134 | John W. Warner IV amongst them. Well, they arent as brush-daft and boring as the Monaco set diddling each That day at Stonehenge, when you strained against the giant stone for a laugh? I actually believed you could push it over and uncover something truly remarkable, the rest of the sodden gang just swigged, shagged, and took snaps, mindless and oblivious while you spun reams of Wycombe-Aelftic revisionist history. He pointed to the grave, his tone a hammer. Those…two…men followed you because you gained their respect, their trust, they fought alongside you, bard, and Gwafa probably would again, no doubt in my mind; I can see whats in the eyes of men. He would have killed me if I had laid a hard hand anywhere near you. Yes, but he He took a firmer tone, flavoring his words with spice. You know what I finally realize? Hmm? 01 don Aelfric was right and said so to me that day at the picnic reunion. Its not the size of the dog in a fight Tts the size of the fight in the dog. Mark Twain. Youre special, damn your eyes, against the plywood grain, and people bate that, theyll put you in your proper place and fetter n chain you there any which way they can; the higher-ups will always want everyone status quo and hive-minded like bees. But not a chance for dear ol Bea. Oh-h-h, no. Youve never been inside, never even seen the conformist iron box let alone thought inside of one, and God-damn you for it says the world. Im surprised youre still in uniform. Its odd ducks like you that attract the admiration, respect, and hidden talent in others, then together as one you change everything. I loved you for all that…always will A long pause happened upon them, easing their frayed and worn nerves not unlike their worn uniform cuffs that needed constant mending, the small warmth of held hands reminding them both how much they really meant to one another. War was the ultimate hell they knew, but within its granite-hard foundation were tiny inexplicable fissures, ones that brought out the very best in civilians and combat-hardened soldiers, the little golden half-moments of fleeting ecstasy and peerless fire sparks of happiness that were invaluable in the constant mire and grind of wartime life, like floating, hard- to-catch Dandelion seeds in the summer whirlwind. Bea tried to calculate all the grains of sand in the world, then, thinking of Lutz and the cosmos, she contemplated the infinite spaces between all those grains. When