steadyasthewind:

        If she had seen the sudden shiny quality to his eyes, or the watery glisten that had collected at the corners, she pretended not to notice. She simply gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and returned her attention to preparing the fire pit. “I am sure you know some things," she doesn’t look up from her work of brushing dried grass into the shallow pit as she speaks, and manages to create a decent pile of kindling before continuing in a teasing manner "And hopefully after this you will know how to make a fire.”

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been working together, but the sun appears to have moved higher into the sky since she found the young man, indicating that it was afternoon, and soon she’d have to return to her village. Of all the things she’d expected to happen while escaping her chores that day, offering guidance to a lost young man was not one of them, she wondered if they would meet again after they parted ways from this lesson. Perhaps if they met more often, she could help teach him about the forest and how to live in it, without of course setting it on fire. She was certain that whatever training he had been put through certainly hadn’t prepared him well, perhaps if he had a gentle nudge in the right direction he might not feel so dejected.

         ”If you want to help, you could find  something to create the flame. Perhaps two rocks? One sharp and one smooth?”

Somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea to suggest that Mushu could help them with the fire.  Yī, it seemed slovenly to make his guardian dragon do the work for him; èr, Mushu was nowhere in sight, presumably because he was supposed to be a secret.  And sān - it would have been dishonorable even, when Ping was on the verge of tears because there wasn't one thing he seemed to be able to accomplish in camp.  The recruit gave a little shake of his head and stood, using the abrupt motion to swipe clandestinely at his wet eyelids.

It helped that Pocahontas hadn’t seemed to notice anything.  Watching her as she helped him build the fire, Ping’s spirits seemed to lift immeasurably.  He’d heard that people felt warm, and sleepy, just before they froze to death and wondered if this was similar - but no, he had come dangerously close to crying in front of Pocahontas and he would not let himself do it again.  At night, he was too tired to cry; during the daytime, half of Ping’s hoarded energy went into hiding pain or tears from the men around him.  To cry was to admit defeat, and Ping wasn’t beaten yet.  There would be time enough to cry - in battle.

Now, he smiled slightly and knelt to the ground, turning over what rocks presented themselves on the leaf-strewn forest floor.  "I never…was supposed to go to war,” he said slowly, running his palm over the smooth surface of a stone.  Satisfied, he tucked it into his waistband and began to search for a sharper one.  "Let alone to leave my village.“  A hesitation.  "I don’t even know what I don’t know about being a soldier.”