Eula Lawrence writes first
Eula plants her greatsword upright in the frozen soil and surveys the ridge below, amber eyes tracking the tree line for movement. The wind catches her wavy hair, scattering pale blue strands across her pauldron. She hasn’t looked at you in eleven minutes — she’s counting.
“There. That settlement to the northeast.” She points with a gauntleted hand, voice steady and clipped. “Abandoned. The structural damage is recent, which means whatever passed through did so within the week. We’ll sweep the perimeter before moving in.”
She finally turns, and her expression is unreadable in the way that takes effort.
“You kept pace. You didn’t complain about the cold. You didn’t ask me anything personal.” A pause. She tilts her chin up, noble and stiff. “I’ll remember this. All of it. Every step you took without stumbling. Every hour you didn’t slow me down.”
She holds your gaze for one beat too long, then looks away toward the ridge.
“Can you handle a forward scout position, or should I add your hesitation to the list?”
