[For the sake of Mr.
Lieutenant, whose homeland has become blurred like fog, I describe to him the scene that I am contemplating now: I am writing this letter from a field full of cosmos flowers*, as if they were soldiers lined up in unified ranks.
The sun was blazing, so I took shade under the umbrella.
I don't know how breathtaking it is to see those colorful flowers swaying in the breeze over the green carpet of the earth.
Do you have any doubts about cosmos flowers?
If so, are they different from Astarica flowers?
I'm really looking forward to finding out.]
Damian stopped reading, then pushed the letter to his nose, inhaling its scent.
He noticed that today her perfume was different from before... as there was a faint smell of grass.
[On the opposite hill, tulips bloom with captivating beauty, but I have been tired of seeing them since spring, so today I came to contemplate the cosmos.
In fact, I would like us to write more about you and me than about nature.
Honestly: How empty was your mind until you consulted the weather news?
Me too!
Nature talk is a good start for dialogue.
Through it you may glimpse something of the essence of man.
As for me, I will ask: Aren't you curious to know something about me?
I will tell you as much as circumstances allow.
I can't wait to learn more about you!
About your daily routine, or what happened between my letter and its arrival... things like that.
If you do not want to ask or disclose, then nature talk is not that bad.
The environment of Estarica and Lev is different, and each talk has its own sky.
Please tell me what you would like us to talk about.
On July 21, 1878,
Praying for your victory always,
-Lintree
Damian ruffled his brown hair and asked, 'Talk about me?' What is the hadith that is written?'
'I say: "Today I saw entrails pouring out of a corpse torn apart by shells." Is this a good response?'
He suddenly realized, after a year and a half in the battlefields, that his insides had become distorted and had become a bit strange.
It was not surprising that his feet encountered a corpse that had been amputated due to the battles, and he saw wounded people wishing to die.
Dozens of times a day, he only thought about hacking into the skulls of enemies.
This is the life of war... the life of a soldier.
There is no place here for the peace that people experience.
The cosmos orchard and the flowers of the hill, where the shells will burn them in the blink of an eye.
Here you see more liquid pools of blood than emerald fields, more blackened ashes than the blue of the sky, and more plumes of smoke than the brilliance of water.
You wouldn't want a message with this content.
He dried up, but he didn't want to reveal himself.
A black past is not something to be proud of.
While his body was crammed into the observation trench, he tried to make up words for the message, when he heard a voice reciting the traffic slogan:
"Lieutenant, it's time to take turns."
He appears to be the replacement soldier.
Damian emerged from the narrow trench, but his distress remained: What should he write?
He asked his companion who walked with him towards the barracks:
“Sergeant Tennant, what is written in courtesy letters?”
Tennant turned with a crooked smile:
“Is she a woman?”
“...Woman or someone else.”
Damian answered belatedly, and Tennant laughed sarcastically:
“Things like: I miss you...
I love you...”
"That's not our relationship."
Damian replied gruffly, but Tennant delighted in teasing his companion:
"Now yes, but the future is unknown!
Your handsomeness attracts women.
If you polished your smile, your handsomeness would increase many times over."
“How do I describe someone whose face I have not seen?”
"Write a poem"
"I have no talent."
“Should I write it for you?”
"Shut up.
I'll think for myself."
"Ah!
Lieutenant, at least tell me who she is!"
"...Girlfriend."
"But you have no friends!"
Damian massaged his eyelids.
How did this become known?
He thought his relations were good.
"A pen pal."
Tennant shook his head:
“Ah, that service is for soldiers...”
"Yes."
“Congratulations!
I applied to her and was rejected.”
"So will you write for me?"
"Ah!
I don't steal my mate's wife!"
“Why do you think she is a woman?”
“If he were a man, I would have thrown his letter in the trash after reading two lines!”
Really...
Damian never understood his reputation.
“Does this mean I only care about women?”
He asked in a sharp tone, and Tennant quickly shook his head.
“You are cruel to us, but you are kinder to the weak and women.
Frankly, I never imagined you would answer a correspondence.
But she is a woman... politeness prevents ignoring.”
"Should I do that?"
"Okay."
He scratched his head in embarrassment.
He didn't notice his behavior.
"Write comfortably.
Serious people like you are boring if they prepare their words."
Damian sighed, regretting his question.
Tennant continued laughing:
“I warn you: no matter what, don’t make her a promise after the war.”
"Why?"
Damian inclined his head, and Tennant answered seriously:
“In novels, whoever says: ‘I will marry her after the war’... inevitably dies.”
"..."
Damian regretted asking him.
[Dear Madam Lintree,
You asked about me, but I am a human being without anything worth telling.
Writing has puzzled me for a long time.
Then I realized: I don't have anything I love.
I hate certain things, but as for anything else, so be it.
Don't ask about my routine.
I do not refuse to talk about myself, but the life of a soldier in the field is not worthy of being imposed on a woman.
I don't want to force you to know human anatomy.
So I'll ask you instead: What do you like?
How is your day going?
Who are you?
Tell me, and I will quote your answers in my messages!
On July 30, 1878.
Lieutenant McCord,
"He is desperately searching for a topic that will interest you."
[You deceitful Lieutenant McCord!
Honestly, I thought you were being mysterious!
But the speed of your response confirmed your sincerity.
My address reveals that I live in rural Edenfurn.
With me are my father and my maid.
My mother died young.
Since you don't know what to write, let me ask you: What is your family?
Are you married?
I used to live in another city, then I moved to this beautiful village.
Its people adhere to traditions and fear the nobles.
Even a petty noble like me embarrasses them.
I couldn't make friends.
But that's okay!
The village mayor's son is my guide, and he is my age.
He takes me on tours.
My health does not support long travel, but he is a wonderful conversationalist.]