steadyasthewind:

 

“Are they not the same?” She mused with a raised brow, turning back to the task of gathering a suitable pile of wood, still conversing with the young man. To her a soldier was a protector, the same as a warrior, one who fought for their home and family, who tried to keep the balance of life. War was never pleasant, but she could see it’s necessity in some situations. She wondered what threat had inspired this young man to take up arms. Surely he was better suited for less tolling, domestic work, like fishing; he mentioned something about farmers. Maybe the role of men in his community was different, maybe they too worked in the fields as the women did in her village. For some reason she didn’t see Ping as being a hunter.

“It takes time to become good at anything, if this Captain of yours is used to it, then he has been doing it for a long time. Of course he knows what to expect.” she reassured, casting him a kind smile. The boys in her village were taught from a young age the ways of hunting and catching game. It was through hunting that they learned how to use their weaponry, how to become skilled warriors. If this boy hadn’t been given the same lessons, how could he be expected to know what took years of teaching in a few weeks? “You haven’t been training for long, you can’t know everything about wartime with little training.”

“I feel as if I know nothing,” said Ping bluntly.  By Ping’s reckoning, Captain Shang could only be a few years older than him.  How far behind did that make Ping?  

Gently brushing his sword sheath out of the way, the young recruit sat down on a boulder, cupping his chin in his hands and looking as if he was only just beginning to confide his problems.  But he didn’t go on, instead dropping one hand only to tug halfheartedly at the grass.  Pocahontas might be one of the kindest people he’d met in weeks - the recruit blinked back unmanly tears - but Ping was sure her concern was barely more than that of his superiors.  And she would have her own troubles to think of.  She was already doing enough for Ping, by teaching him how to build a fire.  With a little guilty start, Ping flicked the grass clump he’d uprooted into the fire, where it nestled innocently among the other grasses there.

“I should be helping you with the fire,” he said aloud, in gruffer tones than before.  "What can I do?“