{ducibus: a set of behaviors used to help people align their collective direction and to execute strategic plans.}
newt's pov:
Another day, another funeral.
I sat beside y/n, looking to my right to watch her as she stared at the floor in thought. I wondered what she was thinking, how she was processing what happened.
I knew she knew them - the trainees. She was the one who trained them, predominantly. I could see her so clearly in them that day - in their movements, in the way they handled the situation.
They stood in a wall formation, held their weapons high, and attacked as the bear feasted on their friend. But they missed the head accidentally at first, and then once the bear noticed, it was too late. The bear moved so fast, and whilst it practically launched itself onto them, clawing at their faces, necks, torsos, what hurt them the most was the spear that sliced through them.
They must have known before that moment that they were going to die. They knew the only way they could ever survive was to attack first; take the upper hand. It's what she would have done.
I wanted to reach out to her. "How are you feeling?"
She breathed in heavily through her nose. "So tired. Just so tired."
I didn't think she had slept. She offered Chris and Grace a hand with digging the graves for the funeral this morning, and stayed with Vince throughout the night.
He woke up this morning, but is still very delirious.
"You should rest once this is over, please. I know you've barely slept." I said, softly, looking at her with so much sadness and hope that she would turn her head to look at me.
She turned her head to meet my eyes. "I will. After the funeral." She replied, calmly and with so little effort.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her face was pale. I just wanted to give her a hug; but I knew she wasn't there yet.
"I can stay with you while you sleep if you'd like." I said to her, praying she would say yes, and I could stay by her side for a little while longer.
Y/n met my eyes again, and smiled.
She didn't say anything to me for a moment, and a second later I knew I had lost her attention, as she was swerving in her seat, and watching the two figures move in the distance.
She was transfixed on the two who were limping over the fog covered hill; one holding the other up as the other struggled with their cane.
Vince and Lincoln made it through the fog, over the hill, and right to the front of the ceremony - right in front of the graves.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Y/n seemed angry. "Why is he out of bed?" She hissed, rhetorically.
My assumption was that Vince didn't give Lincoln the option - he either help him attend the funeral or he struggles to make it there alone. I would have done the same.
Vince limped and huffed his way to the front, right before where we were sitting. He looked incredibly frail and unwell, he appeared unhealthily thin. He looked like he was dying.
He cleared his throat, loudly. "I wanted to thank you all for being here, even though the reason for us congregating here today is deeply upsetting and heartbreaking." His voice was weak and strained, as he desperately tried to speak louder for the people in the back.
"Never in my wildest dreams did I expect the events that transpired a few days ago - nonetheless what has occurred since." Vince took another short breath in, and Lincoln rushed in behind him, worried.
