When his terror subsided, he touched the handkerchief, staring at it with an absent-minded look, then folded it carefully and placed it in his breast pocket.
Next to him was Paul, so he wiped his face with his palms and let out a long exhale.
“Huh… It was lucky that supplies were sent to us quickly before winter, otherwise I thought we would have been wiped out.”
Then he extended his hand and patted Damian on the shoulder, his face paler than white paper:
“I offer my condolences to the men of your faction who have fallen into ruin... but do well to take care of the newcomers.”
Damien said:
"I know, don't worry.
This is common."
Although the extinction of factions is a common occurrence, the soul is not spared from its pain.
Damian's appearance at that time was as if he was preparing a coffin, without any surprise.
Paul said, wanting to divert it to something other than this hadith:
“Well… I think your correspondence is going well, right?”
As soon as Damian heard what he said, his face changed and he quickly stuffed the two letters into his jacket pocket.
Paul stared at him out of the corner of his eye and said to himself: 'Look at this boy!'
“Let the new recruits rest today, and prepare them tomorrow to be ready.”
"present."
Damian shook his head in acknowledgment.
Paul left, his face looking weak and not yet pale, looking for another job.
Paul had ordered them to rest, but the condition of the front did not call for them to do so, so Damian ordered the freshmen who had just arrived to begin digging trenches when they had finished unloading their luggage.
He sat a few steps away from them, opened the other letter from Lintree, and found in it:
[To Lieutenant McCord the Wise,
I never had the idea of photographing puppies!
You are right in what you said.
I should have immortalized one or more pictures of them in their small and splendid state.
Unfortunately, when I took out the camera after a long time, I found that it had broken down, so I had it repaired.
They said that it takes about three days, and I hope that the puppies have not grown up in this period so that their appearance is not known.
May they never grow old!
When you mentioned the pictures, it occurred to me to ask you, if you fix the machine, would you like me to send you a picture of me with the puppies?
Aren't you curious about my features?
I find it rude to say this, but I have always heard people say that I am beautiful.
Although our village, Edenvalen, is very small, if they had been asked who its most beautiful women were, I would have been at least second or third.
Perhaps I coveted the first place, but one of the lady’s traits is humility, so I leave this honor to other beautiful women.]
Damian stopped at a place where Lentry offered to send him her picture.
Frankly, he was curious to see her face, and he almost nodded in agreement with what he read.
He was surprised that she would arouse this desire in him, since their correspondence had only been two months, and with the long time it took for the mail to arrive, the conversation they had exchanged was less.
Now I have a desire to own her picture...
Having someone's image in the middle of the battlefield means relying on it, and Damian no longer wants to depend on anyone.
After relying on a shepherd who seemed generous to him on the surface, he found his traitorous, cursed father.
He became certain that relying on others was a betrayal of oneself.
He said to himself: 'Do you think I would like to rely on Lintree?'
Then he remembered that today he buried his face in the handkerchief she sent him, and that the last message from him was asking her to spray her with perfume.
'Maybe I'm tired too.'
He wiped his eyes and shook his head.
Instead of denying his need for comfort, he should have admitted that his condition was bad.
A few days ago, when his entire faction was wiped out and he was left alone, he wished he had died with them.
He was beginning to miss Tennant's smiling face whenever he went out to send a message to Lintry.
Tennant's injury was of the type called "code black", that is, a fatal injury for which there is no benefit in treatment.
Damian comforted him with his hand after his hand was amputated, then he buried him himself.
Moroha.
Meaning he was the one who killed him.
During the battles, there was neither time nor possibility to return the bodies to their places, so they would erect wooden tombstones on the temporary graves, so that when the war ended, they would come to restore them.
Then Damian returned to the barracks, and in a semi-distraught state he wrote Lintry a delirious letter.
'It was a miserable sight.'
He said it while smiling sarcastically.
He grabbed the scented handkerchief that I had sent him, and regained some of his calm, but he found this a reason to be angry with himself, so he began to rub his hair.
He took the handkerchief out of his front jacket pocket again.
It was white in colour, of strong fabric, with decorations of rose trellises at its edges, and in one of its corners the name “McCord” embroidered with thread.
He was a little sorry that it wasn't his real name, but it sounded nicer nonetheless than his silly nickname, "Stern."
'How stupid.'
So he said to himself, yet he refolded the handkerchief and put it in his front breast pocket, then returned to reading the letter.
[In fact, I'm very curious to know what your face looks like, Lieutenant.
But as long as you use an alias, you will certainly not show me your features.
It is unfortunate, but I will persevere and be patient.
However...if you send me a picture I'll be happy.]
This time, she asks for his photo.
In this matter, Damian did not hesitate for a moment in making the decision.
He would never give her a picture; The image is only a means of attachment to the heart, and he does not want to create in himself such an attachment to a soldier who might die at any hour.
Then the one who asked did not seem very hopeful, and therefore he did not feel a twinge of conscience.
[And I learned that you grew up in an orphanage.
You said that you hate talking about family matters, so I wondered what the story was behind that, and then I understood part of the circumstances.
As I mentioned to you before, my mother passed away.
The truth is that I have a complicated family history, but engaging in family talk is something that causes embarrassment for you and me, so I kept the conversation short.
However, I often find myself wanting to air my complaint to someone, but I have no one to do so.
Does this happen to you sometimes?
If so, then I will be a good listener to you.
I am always ready to hear from you, so do not hesitate.
Indeed, correspondence is a good thing!
I, who seldom leave Edenfallen, can speak to you with these letters, even though you participated in a war in a far-away land, and that is very surprising.
Yes, I am a simple country woman.
I have only visited the capital countless times in my life, and the town I lived in before moving to Edenvalen was remote, far from the capital.
Therefore, I am pleased to talk to you, even though you are in an environment that is completely different from mine.
It's amazing.
And besides, we're not that far apart in age, are we?
However, how different we are!
This makes me certain that the world is vast, and the people are many.
That's why I sought correspondence.
So tell me, Lieutenant, what you know, and show me a world I've never known, whether it's heaven or hell, I don't care.
I am naturally eager to know what I do not know.”
September 18, 1878 AD.
-Lintri, many questions.]
Damian wanted to write his response immediately, but he remembered that he had nothing to support the paper with, so he put the letter back in his pocket.
Then he buried his face in his palms, watching the new dark-skinned soldiers, dripping with sweat as they dug the ground.
'Do you really need to know this, Mrs.
Lintree?
There are things in this world that one does not need to know.'
"To Mrs.
Lintree, the greediest person in the world,
I'm an idiot...didn't I tell you?
Men my age are all fools, so I sent you a foolish letter.
I beg your pardon.
But just as you haven't stopped babysitting Greene, and haven't stopped exchanging letters with me, so bear with my foolishness.
On the day I sent that letter, I was in a very bad state.
I wasn't drunk, yes, but I was in a state where it would have been okay to have been drunk.
There was no physical harm to me, but it was all in the soul, and I have recovered now, and I am fine, so thank you for your concern.
As for the handkerchief, I have reached it.
What is this perfume of yours?
I'm not a perfume expert and I don't know the types of scents, but it appealed to me.
Smelling the scent of blossom in the heart of intense battle is truly difficult.
As for the handkerchief, since you sent it in such a hurry, was it something you had prepared before?
Although it is a pseudonym, my name is embroidered on it.
If you had a quick hand, you could have completed it in one day.
But the fabric is stiffer than women's, and it seems you embroidered it yourself, which is why I ask.
However, I am afraid that its fragrance will fade, so I do not think I will ever use it, but I will keep it carefully.
As for your face, I don't want to see it.
I know that this is a very rude statement, but I could not find a nicer way to express what I wanted, so I am sorry for that.”