The sun was bright on her borrowed and ill-fitting armor, baking her inside it. The sword was heavy and useless in her. But she took no notice. The man was collapsed at her feet, blood turning the green grass a sparkling crimson; it ran down her arm, drying on her fingers, making them sticky.

She had just killed a man. Killed him with the weapon in her hand, she stood, staring, though her training and instincts and fellows were all screaming at her not to make an easy target. The only sounds were of her breathing, everything else dulled to a low roar.

She looked away from the man and saw Liam waving his arms at her, caught in the grasp of another of the enemy; looking so different though he was her twin. She turned to help him, moving her feet slow because they were so heavy.

A sudden thud, accompanied by a burning pain in her chest broke the feeling of being under water. An arrowhead, shiny and black, protruded between two plates of armor that didn’t match, spreading a bloody stain on her jerkin.

She dropped her sword and looked back at Liam who was struggling furiously to be free of his opponent and screaming himself hoarse. She fell to the ground, the grass coming to meet her in a rush.

The tent was lit by few candles and only one lantern, fuzzily illuminating the low cots occupied by bandaged forms. Low muffled sounds filtered through the canvas. This was a hospital tent, why was she here? She was fine, no damage; though feeling just fine didn’t seem to fit with what she almost remembered.

She slid from her cot, pointedly not looking at the others, and ducked through the tent flap left open to catch any wayward night breezes. The sounds were coming from somewhere off to the left, a warm glow hovered there too. That would be the campfire, and dinner time, or thereabouts. She headed that way, wanting to find Liam.

He was sitting at the edge of the pool of light, holding a mug to his chest, under his chin, staring into the fire. One of his shoulders was wrapped with white linen, the arm bound to his side. Tad sat beside him, nursing his own cup. They were having a murmured conversation, though neither of them ever looked away from the fire.

“The enemy’s sent an envoy to negotiate. We beat ‘em good,” said Tad.

“Yeah,” agreed Liam.

“And you were great, keepin’ goin’ and all.”

“Yeah.”

Tad turned and examined Liam. His eyes were wide and searching and just a little overwhelmed, like he was in shock over something.

"You okay?" asked Tad? Liam continued to stare, unblinking.

"They don't think she'll make it," he said in a deadpan devoid of all emotion. Tad furrowed his eyebrows. "Leave the arrow, she'll die slow in pain. Take it out, she'll die faster in pain." His eyes now resembled marbles, shiny and clear, but without life.

Stupid, she was standing right here, just fine. She decided she would surprise him. She crept up behind him and pounced at his shoulders; she missed and fell to her knees.

She scrambled up and tried to collect her thoughts. It had been a clear shot, she'd been right behind him, and he hadn't moved. Now she was in front of him, but he seemed not to see her.

A slight woman in the blue trousers and smock of a field-medic appeared. She touched Liam's shoulder, making him start violently. She knelt slowly, not meeting his gaze. He adopted a look of severe alarm.

"Your sister," she said. "She's gone."

Yeah, cause I'm right here. No one appeared to hear her.

Liam staggered to his feet, thrown off balance by the arm bound to his side. Tad steadied him with an outstretched hand. "No. No, she—she—"

The medic simply looked mournful. Liam started in the direction she had come from. She followed, wanting to see the look on his face when he saw her standing there the whole time.

She was close on the medic's heels when they entered the tent she had just left.

Liam was thrown bodily over a cot, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Fiona, no. Fiona!"

She walked closer, puzzled at his actions. Why would her cry over an empty cot of someone who was obviously fine and walking around. Since she was standing here. But it wasn't empty. The person on the cot was waxen and pale. The face had a familiar nose crooked from being broken, freckles from the sun, fly-away red hair. Her face.

The freckles stood out on the bloodless face and blue lips and down onto her bare shoulders where there was a bloodstained white bandage.

She reached out tentative fingers to touch her face, but jerked them back like she'd been burned. He turned her gaze to the medic who was watching Liam sorrowfully. She couldn't be dead, she was standing right here.

Tad embraced Liam one last time and climbed back onto the back of his horse, it was off with no hesitation; her presence made it uneasy.

Liam watched Tad's retreating back for a few moments and then turned down the lane leading to the family farm. She vaulted onto the back of the horse he was leading, not wanting to "walk" anymore. It shied a little and Liam clicked his tongue at it, twitching the reins.

As he got closer to the main house, some of the littles feeding chickens in the front yard shrieked and ran into the house. Soon, the entire household was out in the yard, waving and calling. When he reached the mob of littles, hired hands and family, he handed off the horse and began to pass out hugs. Fiona stayed close to his elbow so she could hear anything he said.

“Where’s Fiona?” asked Taver, their younger brother. He had wanted to go with them to fight, but stayed because he was too young. Now his face was open and worried, looking for a glimpse of her familiar face.

“She, ah. Well,” Liam bit his lip and looked down. “We need to talk about it somewhere else, I think.” Taver frowned and nodded, then the whole troupe was herded back to where they belonged and Taver, Mum, Da, and Aunt Clarisse all went to the kitchen. Sitting at the scrubbed table, they looked solemn and anxious.

Liam sat down and winced a little. His broken ribs still weren’t healed completely and riding hadn’t helped. He took a deep breath and said it.

“Fiona’s dead.”

Silence reined.

“She—took an arrow and it killed her. She never really even felt it.”

Still no one said a word. She placed a hand on Liam’s shoulder, just because she felt like she should.

Finally Taver broke the silence. “Should we tell?”

“No,” said Mum. “Not just yet. We’ll tell after supper. Let everyone else have a chance to be happy you’re home, Liam.”

There had been roast goose and bread with butter and honey and all the things that Liam liked to eat, but he hadn’t touched it. Neither had Taver. She had sat in the left over chair and watched her family eat, drink, and be merry. She was glad they still could be.

“Why aren’t you eating?” said a small voice. She looked sharply down. Katherine, Clarisse’s youngest, whose eyes barely reached over the top of the table without a boost was looking in earnest at her. “If you don’t eat now, they won’t let you have anything else.”

Fiona nodded. I’m not hungry, sweetling.

“Okay. And you should change your shirt, it’s all dirty.”

Fiona looked down at the blood stain on her tunic. She thought she might wear it forever, but she nodded again.

Of course.

Da took that moment to stand up and clear his throat. He adjusted the fit of his mustache, trying to look very serious. The rest of the gathering fell silent.

“We are glad to have Liam back with us, bringing the end of our war.” Cheers. “I propose a toast.”

Mugs were raised and ale drunk.

“There is also knews regarding my dearest daughter Fiona.”

She clenched her fists in her lap. She knew what was coming. Da produced the small pottery urn with her ashes and set it on the table.

“She has died in the execution of her ded patriotic duty and—” he choked. There were tears dripping off his chin. “We should honor her too with a toast.” More solemnly this time, glasses were raised. Da sat down heavily and Mum stroked his arm, holding back her own tears.

Low murmurs of voices began around the table. Liam had his head on his arms and exuded misery. She reached out to touch him but was stopped by the small voice again.

“You’ll just make him sadder.” The little girl blinked through blonde eyelashes at her.

What?

“You’ll make him sad. We know now. You can leave. He’ll be okay.”

You’re sure? You’ll look after him for me?

“Yes.” Katherine wriggled from her chair and under the table. She reappeared next to Fiona and looked up at her again. “I can do that.”

Thank you. Katherine nodded.

“Go.”

Fiona blew a kiss to the child as her surroundings began to fade.

“Katherine? Dearest, who are you talking to?”

“Fiona. She had to make sure we were all right.”