Falina didn't have the heart of a poet; but she knew fear, and she knew violence.
The dwarf stood as if she were some silent statue, her eyes hooded and fingers drawn up to her ribs. She was chilled and her heart hammered in her small chest. Falina could feel its pulsing echo, could hear the blood that thundered through her veins during every silent interim. The last hour had been surreal to her; a weighted chasm of endless ticking time. A series of moments that were connected only from one beat of her heart to the next. She couldn't cling to them any longer than that. These were possibly her last moments- she refused to spend them watching the dying fall, but instead focused on the silent leader who would mourn them.
Falina saw the Warden-Commander's eyes narrow with each named recruit. Her eyes roved the minutiae of his features with startling clarity: The small creases that formed at the corners of his eyes and lips, his cheeks, which held only the ghosts of his laugh lines. The simple fact of their loss filled her with more despair than the death of any casual acquaintance. Alistair had laughed vibrantly around the campfires, his jokes always the loudest. He was an unstoppable force when he caught up in a fit of mirth; seeing him now, it was hard to believe that he was the same man.
She watched through the moments between her heartbeats as warriors fell; men and woman who were already heroes in their own right. Falina felt she was only a little girl, what hope did she have when heroes convulsed on flagstones that were stained red with their blood?
She'd heard the names of the other recruits; some she knew, some she hadn't. They rung hollowly in her periphery, and while she was aware that they were facing their deaths, she couldn't manage a prayer nor a wavering smile in their direction. Her being a Duster seemed to finally have been of some benefit. It protected her now and enveloped her in small heady haze that kept her from really seeing the dropping bodies, from registering the fact that these were indeed people. That they were friends to someone, even if not to her. Instead they just became shapes. Shadows, shells drug left or right. Alive or dead. One after another.
The only time she looked away from Alistair was when Rhocanth was called forward, some small frantic part of her remembering him and spurring her to attention. She kicked herself into motion, clutching his elbow while she could- while he was still able to be touched. He responded immediately, and she kissed his cheek impulsively; unable to articulate any encouragement or goodbye, lest the burning spread from her eyelids and cheeks.
For a moment tears threatened to fall; the feeling was her worst enemy in an hour that was already too long and painful for any person to realistically endure, even one who'd been staring in unaffected stone silence. Rho returned the small kiss in kind, seemingly more eloquent and giving then she was capable of being in his moment. She didn't watch as he drank, instead she only felt the tension building in her stomach, nerves clawing outward from the insides of her skin. Her tongue worried the lower line of her teeth as the heat seared her. It was all she could do.
He'd given her one of his marbles, a deep amethyst sphere that he'd fashioned into a bauble for her. The color swirled through it, like a deep purple ink, and he'd recounted how much they meant to him. She'd worn it proudly at her collarbone in the two days since her birthday. She heard his painful choking, and -unable to look away any longer - saw from the corner of her eye as he crashed to his knee. She nearly tore the leather cord from her neck then and there, wrenching the the small marble harshly between her fingers. A quick dry sob took her so quickly that she was startled by it, her eyes brimming with tears unshed for Rho.