Stricken with severe altitude sickness at the high elevation fortress of Traitor's Pass, Brenna is evacuated by emergency tram to a sanitarium on the valley floor.  Garrick who remains behind, becomes frustrated and worried.  He eats breakfast with Lieutenant Mariel Hougen, an attractive woman who offers consolation.

    “Come on, soldier,” the lieutenant called.  “Let’s get something to eat.” 

    Mariel Hougen had darker skin and a remarkably slim figure for a Tamarian woman.  In general, the daughters of the High Land appeared sturdy, strong, tall and round-faced with blonde hair and light-colored eyes.  The lieutenant’s hair, tied up in a bun behind her beret, reflected reddish light that seemed to glint in her dark, smoky quartz-colored eyes.  She looked exotic in contrast with her citizen sisters.

    Though Mariel, like Brenna, was better than ten years his senior, Garrick found her intelligent and interesting, a person with whom he could easily engage in conversation.  He learned that her mother came from eastern desert region south of the Saradon, where dark eyes and red hair frequently graced the features of people native to that area.  Mariel’s family owned land on Sharp Talon Ridge, a place famous for its apples and a location significant to him because during the war he’d battled a formidable monster known as a Deathwolf in an orchard a few miles from the Hougen property.

    The cafeteria bustled at the height of breakfast service.  Due to their unusual mountaintop posting, the garrison stationed at Traitor’s Pass ate their meals together.  Officers mingled with enlisted men, their laughter and discussion growing as the food service progressed.  Hot food smelled delicious and though eating felt deeply satisfying, Garrick restrained his zeal for the sake of good manners.

    While they ate, Garrick learned that Mariel joined the army to help pay for her education.  An interest in language, particularly her mother’s native dialect, availed no advantage to a farmer’s daughter, even a wealthy one, but the army maintained a large corps of linguists in its espionage department.  Lieutenant Hougan, who’d learned seven languages, translated documents written in Vulgate or Parsinnian, the obscure, desert-derived tongue of her mother that was often used for message traffic, two languages of Kameron and that of the Vatherans, a maritime nation to the north.  In exchange for this service, she claimed the Tamarian army subsidized her ongoing studies.  At present, she said she was traveling to the university in Marvic to work on a doctorate in linguistics, and on the way, had stopped at Traitor’s Pass to relax for a few days.  Her last statement raised suspicion in Garrick’s mind, but he said nothing, letting her talk.

    “Most of what I do is boring,” she admitted.  “I translate newspapers and government publications, but the army wants to know what it all really means, and that’s the job of an analyst familiar with the culture.

    “But enough about me,” she concluded.  “Tell me about you.”

    Garrick shrugged.  “There’s nothing interesting to know about me.”

    “Ah, but there is!” she countered.  “You’re romantically involved with an alien mercenary.  In my line of work that makes you interesting.”

    “So, lieutenant, you’re a spy now?” he queried.

    She dismissed the remark.  “Don’t be silly.  At first I wondered why a good-looking Tamarian boy would bother with some foreigner who speaks the enemy’s language, but then I took a good look at her while we got her into her clothes and I know why you like her!”  Mariel smiled lecherously.  “Let’s just say I noticed how she fills out those little running sweats of hers.”

    “You think that’s all I care about?” he asked, blushing, desperate to change the subject.  “If I took an interest in you because of your red hair, how long do you think that would sustain my attention?”

    “I think that would depend on which red hair you were looking at,” she replied, lowering her head, crossing her legs and provocatively leaning forward.

    Garrick felt he was being outmaneuvered and needed to think fast, but he stammered uncharacteristically with his words.  “Lieutenant, I know that Brenna’s beautiful,” he began.  “But don’t patronize me with that kind of simplistic talk.”

    Lieutenant Hougen laughed.  “Yeah, right!  Convince me that when she moves around, or rubs her soft parts on you that you’re thinking about her goodness and character.  Come on, soldier, do you think I was born yesterday?” 

    Although Garrick knew it was risky to reveal his irritation with an officer, he’d grown impatient with this kind of accusation.  “Lieutenant, I don’t appreciate you talking about her like that.  What do you know about Brenna, anyway?  How can you disconnect her intellect and focus on her body like she’s some rack of meat in the market?  I’ve just watched her leave here on a cart with a tube in her nose, I don’t know if I’ll ever see her alive again and you think my primary concern centers on how she looks when she’s wearing her running sweats?  Are you out of your mind, lieutenant?

    “I’ve fought with this girl at my side for months.  I’ve watched her risk her life for the guys in my unit, dragging their broken bodies to safety while the enemy shot at her.  Together we’ve been tired, cold, hungry and terrified.  I’ve heard her laugh; I’ve watched her cry.  I’ve listened when she vents frustration because people hate her without reason.

    “She prays over me, lieutenant, though I don’t even believe in her God.  Brenna accepts me just as I am.  In the past few hours I’ve seen what she’s like when she’s deathly sick, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see any of those other things again.”  Garrick’s eyes brimmed with tears, but he restrained his anger, holding back his fear and sorrow.  “Don’t tell me what I love about her, “ he concluded.  “That’s for her and me alone to know.”

    Lieutenant Hougan felt a tide of remorse rising within her, having utterly miscalculated the depth of Garrick’s dedication.  She looked away, regretting her attitude, regretting her words.  The linguist shook her pretty head.  “Well, Private Ravenwood, I’ve been out of line.”  She paused, searching for the right thing to say, as if words well spoken could ameliorate her mistake.  “I hope you can forgive me for misjudging you and misjudging her.  She’s clearly put her name on your heart, and I can honestly say she’s honored to have won your devotion.”

    When Mariel met his gaze, she saw the eyes of a killer gradually soften.  “I can forgive you, lieutenant,” he said.  “I can forgive you.”