Author: Elizabeth
Rating: A saucy PG-13... cause that's all I can write... and no more, else you'll be highly disappointed with my knowledge thereof.
Disclaimer: I wish I did... but I don't... wish I was one of the official writers, but I'm not... and never will be <sigh>... so, is that good enough to disclaim my non-existent ownership of W/T?

Both figures stayed still - neither knew what to do.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Situations like this just don't happen every day, you know.

What am I doing?

It seems both girls would agree.

What is she doing? Is she going to move, or just stand there frightening me to death?

Tar'airah's heavy breathing brought her back to reality, finally. Her arm was still arched in the air, ready to be brought down upon her victim, who seemed to be waiting for it to happen just as much as her. Her arm wouldn't budge though - not with the intent she originally had, anyway.

I can't do this. This isn't right. I can't...

Tar'airah's arm slowly hitched and lowered to her side. Willow's eyes peered through the cracks of her fingers, now placed delicately over her face. They never left the blade, her almost-attacker's body was silhouetted against glow of the moon—she could barely distinguish the outline of a young woman.

Tar'airah saw everything perfectly though. What she saw, though, made her all the more frightened of what she had become. A whimpering figure, dressed in what she guessed was today's "fashion," shielding their brow, sat there on the ground with a chain latched onto a leg.

What have I done? What am I doing? I could never... I would never...

A soft plunk sounded as Tar'airah's knife dropped to her side. She looked down the metal that had landed, and grazed her shin slightly while falling to the sandy ground.

So simple. It had seemed so simple...

The silence kept pounding in Willow's ears, and her hand slowly came down to peer at the woman. Questions whizzed through her mind a mile a minute, but she stayed silent, and stealthily moved herself to push up on her elbow and get a better look.

She dropped her sword-thingy! Does this mean she won't kill me? Does this mean she was going to kill me? Why is she looking down at it? Since when do Amazon women admire their weaponry right before killing some one? Why is she not speaking? What's wrong with her? Did I do something?

Once sitting fully upright she could see the woman's quiet form. Although still slightly darkened by the neighboring light, from this point of view Willow was able to make out the girl's clothing, her arms, her hair, her cheeks, her

Eyes... Oh god, she's...

Crying? Why am I crying? Why? I am the first of the Caleahla Squadron! I am the title fighter for all sparring events ever to have been held in my time on this here earth! I have the heart of a lioness, the mind of a jaguar, the claws of a hawk, and the valor of a true warrior. Warriors do not cry. THEY DO NOT!

Tar'airah shut her eyes with the continual pounding of voices screaming inside her head. Over and over again they sounded, first the voice of Thea, training her as a child to defend herself in unexpected combat, then Fa'aithlia's and a million others yelling at her to fight from the sidelines in her first sparring event, and lastly her own voice. Her own weak voice, screaming at the top of her lungs for freedom from all the pain, all the blood - all the death - blared through her mind, silencing all others at the seemingly small demand: kill.

Willow stood up, painfully slow. Her own eyes glanced down at the hands of her would-be-killer. She stood face to face with the girl, who's eyes were still cast down in remorse for whatever that had caused her so much pain.

She's trembling.

Willow did not attempt to grab the awaiting knife, nor did she try chewing out the woman for scaring her shitless, and then going catatonic on her.

Willow did only what she knew she could do in that exact moment.

Her hands slowly crept from her side, and touched those of the other girl - a sign of comfort.

Please, stop crying.

Willow's own eyes steamed up in spite of her stalwart nature. They bored into the other girl's face, causing Willow to wonder if she was even alive at the moment. And then all of a sudden the one thing that she had wanted most, and yet also feared, she realized, happened.

The girl looked up, right back at her.

Please stop crying.

As if on cue by Willow's wish, the other girl's eyes blinked away the remaining tears. But she continued to stare back. Willow didn't seem to care, seeing as she stared as well, unable to say or do anything save touch the girl's fingers.

A movement of some one's (was it hers or...?) fingers brought Tar'airah's eyes down.

My hands... our hands...

A look of confusion, but utter acceptance at the revelation that they were holding hands flashed through Tar'airah's face. Willow caught the mix of emotions and thankfully saw the understanding she was praying for. Having a violent woman kill you, even after you seemed to have escaped, for hitting on her was not on Willow's to-do list.

Willow smiled slightly, which Tar'airah caught. She smiled weakly back, letting the tears dry on her cheeks. Willow noticed this; she brushed the last remaining drops of liquid from the girl's cheek. The stare and silence continued for few more moments.

A crack outside the hut brought both girls' heads snapping in one direction toward the window - only a twig snapping from a bush.

Their faces slowly crept back to their respective places, and Willow knew that they could not stand here forever.

Although I'd like to...

She heard a muffled mumble and looked up at the questioning eyes of the intruder.

"Y-y-you're not a man?" Tar'airah stated rather than questioned.

"You're not an Amazon?"