{Armia}
"You're lucky," the commander said, watching Armia check her equipment for the third time.
His voice had that particular tone she'd gotten used to hearing. The one that said 'I'm trying very hard not to stare at the giant darian woman.'
"Lucky?" Armia raised an eyebrow, adjusting her breastplate. The standard-issue armor barely contained her chest, much less her muscles.
"Most fights around here?" He gestured vaguely at the border. "They just happen. No warning, no preparation. Just suddenly there's a sword coming at your face and you better hope your reflexes are faster than your thoughts."
[Wonderful,] Armia thought. [So thoughtful of them to let me know I'm about to potentially die.]
She'd spent the morning writing letters.
One to her father, full of properly noble sentiments about duty and honor. One to Melisa, considerably less proper and involving detailed descriptions of exactly what she planned to do to when she got back.
