Though their reasons for wielding differ, Nausicaä and Casca both understand the importance of a good blade. One which a person can rely on, that they can use for what they believe right. For this reason she took great care in selecting her gift; a short but deadly blade, cut from the hardened shed shell of an ohmu. She presents it without grandeur, simply offering it with a smile.
The shadows that had befallen her heart began to show; they showed in the sickly grey of her skin, or the empty, black holes for eyes where a fire used to twinkle, and of course a pair of dark rings, imprinted deep into the flesh around those hopeless eyes. Weary movements lifted Casca from the chair she had crouched on, for many, countless hours, with a map and ink and a ragged hawk feather pen. The very same shadows even showed on the tinted, black fingertips that had smeared across the ink by accident. When lines blurred, and sleep threatened to overpower, and Casca didn’t even understand her own tactics anymore.
Her muscles ached under the effort of stretching. Joints cracked as though millions of years made them buckle, a hearty groan freeing at last some of the tension she had locked inside her lungs over the course of this day. The commander felt a little better now, although it took one single glance at the scattered parchment before her to numb her fleeting relief.
During all these hours, it felt as if she had gotten no-where at all.
Men outside of this tent perished by the hour, either of fatal wounds because they had been ambushed again, by illness or infection, or the rough elements of Midland’s winter. Casca, who so desperately worked through day and night to provide the faintest bits of hope for her vanishing band, felt like the ground that held her readied itself to pull the Hawks into the deepest pits of hell. Without the aid of a miracle, it was only a matter of time until they joined Griffith to burn for their many, many sins.
When Nausicaä entered the tent, she found Casca staring at nothing in particular. Her eyes were absent, and so was her heart. She ignored the ruffling of the heavy rugs, a makeshift door for a tent which also fell apart under the force of winter. There’s no hearth to warm up on, only a few, old candles Casca had lit to see what she’s reading and writing. It took the firm, yet gentle squeeze of a warm hand to startle her soul back into its vessel.
It’s clear as daylight where her mind had lingered, although Casca would never admit so even at the risk of her own life. Feigning composure, the commander rose her own hand and covered Nausicaä’s. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.” Updates on the Hawk’s dire situation were exchanged briefly, although the other wouldn’t admit where she had spent the last couple of days. “I’ve not slept in a while. And I don’t know what to do.” Such shameful confessions never came easy to Casca, but her guards were long let down. “We move further away from Midland, yet keep running into stray troops. I’ve lost half of my men since the announcement of Griffith’s death. I try to give them hope, but I have no hope left for myself. Nausicaä, I don’t think…..”
Casca shushed mid-sentence when a long object, wrapped in embroidered linen, was offered to her. Nausicaä’s smile cut through the ice in her chest. For a moment, she would simply stare at her, then at the gift, and then back at her friend. “Take it, Casca. It’s for you.”
The object felt too light to be a sword, but proved to be exactly that, when the cloth fell and revealed its content. A weapon unlike any she has ever seen, and she saw many. It didn’t exceed in length, but as soon as her fingers grasped the handle, it almost merged into an extension of her arm. Casca knew right away that this blade wouldn’t restrict her agile style of fighting. Despite its lightness, the weapon promised endurance and precise, deadly strikes. As she did with any new sword, the warrior balanced and weighed it, and basked in the peculiar high usually triggered by a successful battle. She couldn’t wait to slay down her enemies with it.
For the first time in a while, her brown eyes lit up with a spark of fire they’ve lost in the last couple of weeks. Colour flushed her cheeks because she felt humbled to be given such a precious item. Tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes, not triggered by grief but a spark of hope Casca thought forever lost. She held on to the blade, but her free hand reached for Nausicaä’s arm, squeezing it gently. “Thank you. I- I am at a loss for words. I will put this blade to good use. I will defend my men with this, until we’re set free from the King’s wrath.” She huffed a raspy chuckle and even cracked a smile.
“I’ve nearly given up on any hope for us. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for bringing a little piece of it back.”
