Rage and Rebellion (Histories of Havenhearth)

1.7 Gwinael

"Finally, Snowberry! It's about time you followed an order precisely, you may come to something after all," Gwinael had been lucky, the order had come to halt, and some of the others had not heard it being given over the horn, and had continued marching through the Herb Hills. She had just happened to glance at the commander's face when she had made it. But Gwinael's luck with Heathtree didn't last long, because moments later she was being told off again. "Snowberry! Attention. Would you please! There are orders to heed." She looked straight ahead, just as she had been trained, neither to the right nor the left, and nor up nor down either. She knew well that it was inexcusable that she would daydream while orders were being given, and there were so many times when she wondered if maybe being in the protectorate was not right for her. She was at least certain that she could never lead others. She was far too dreamy.

This had also been clear after her training had finished and she had had one week of leave, and she and her friend Jamala Rowanroot had spent it in the Tainish capital. Each day they had slept in, eaten out at the street markets, and gone out at night, to try their hand at drinking alcohol, now that they were of age. One night, she had consumed too much and she did not recall their walk home in great detail, just that they had met two young men on their way, also out celebrating their recent graduation from their marine training.

One, called Timotey, went home after walking Gwinael to the door, while the other, she did not know his name, came up with them, and rather than say goodbye at their own door, came in with Jamala, and he was still there when Gwin got up in the morning.
The whole night, she laid awake, wondering what they were doing, listening to see if she could hear anything. She did not really even know what males and females did together at night. She felt jealous, curious, confused and excited for her friend all at the same time. After he had left the next morning, she couldn't stop herself from asking questions.
"What did you do with him?"
"We had fun," she replied, with a glint in her eye.
"Will you marry him now?"
"Marry him? Why would I do that?"
"''Cause of last night. I've heard that's what people do when they stay the night together." Jamala ran her hand through her messy hair and laughed.
"You've heard people get married after a night together?"
"Don't they?"
"Some maybe." Jamala was a good-looking young woman, with big brown eyes and large pink lips, and a curvy body.
"Do you know what people do together at night?" She had that gleam in her eye again. Gwinael shook her head.
"What?"
"Oh, You'll learn soon enough."
"Can't you just tell me?"
"Where's the fun in that? Much better for you to find out yourself. Or maybe if we go out and drink too much again I'll show you," Jamala winked, descended into a fit of giggles.
"So he won't expect you to marry him?"
"Absolutely not. He knew what he was doing just as much as I did."
"Just doesn't seem...." Gwinael crossed her arms and walked to the window in a sulk. She didn't know what it seemed and she started to dream about being in love.
"Oh Gwinny, I guess this shouldn't surprise me given who your mother is. Anyway, you'll learn soon enough. And maybe you'll be able to have some fun yourself out in Cassion. Not long til you're off now." This talk with Jamala did not help, and neither did her reassurance that she would learn for herself soon enough. Rather, it just made her more confused. Was she supposed to know all about that stuff already? She had at least kissed somebody, but that was it. What came after kissing?

No time to think about it now, because the column of combattants started to advance. Here she was in Cassion, none the wiser. Under orders to Chevelles. Or something. She had heard talk of the siege at Charroux, but that did not clarify what she herself would be doing when they got there. She watched the figure on horseback ahead of her, her commander sitting stiffly, back as straight as the occasional arrow which fell around them, which were returned by their own archers, positioned to the sides of the column, and some up into the hills. The horns continued playing, faster tunes now. A drum or two as well. Deeper and deeper into the hills.