THE barracks were filled to the brim with about thirty other female soldiers. Desiree imagined the male barracks were just as full, or even more so. The large warehouse contained rows of bunk beds, each three bunks high, a bathroom area, and a small dining hall with five large tables but no kitchen.
Upon her arrival, Desiree was given a small pack that contained toiletries, two sets of night clothes, three leather suits, and undergarments. To her dismay, all of the bottom and middle bunks had already been claimed. In her sore state, Desiree made it a point to waddle her way down the rows to the most remote bunk so she could attempt to climb without losing too much of her dignity.
Most of the other women were gathered at the makeshift mess hall, eating supper. None of them paid Desiree, or any of the new female soldiers who slowly trickled in, any mind. Her mouth watered as the scent of roasted chicken and vegetables reached her corner of the barracks, but she allowed her exhaustion to win out, even as her stomach grumbled its dissent. Desiree settled beneath the thick blanket of her bed and ate the last bit of venison jerky she'd stashed away from her journey before letting herself sleep.
✧✦✧
"From now until further notice, you are not soldiers. You are not Retrievers. You are Prospects."
Commander Atlas Bane stood at the front of the group of both male and female Prospects in the large indoor training arena. "Each and every one of you were hand selected for the Retrievers Unit," she continued, regarding the crowd with a look that bordered between disinterest and disdain, "we brought you here in good faith, and now it is time for you to prove yourselves. Over the next three days you will complete three trials. These trials will help us to determine your aptitudes, see your strengths and weaknesses, and decide whether or not you will become a Retriever. Captain Fenryk will explain what to expect for today's trial."
Bane turned on her heel, her platinum ponytail swishing with the movement, and marched out of the building.
A hulking, beast of a man stepped forward. Desiree wasn't sure if it were possible, but it seemed as if every square inch of him was covered in muscle. He was about average height for a man, with light brown skin and long, black hair that was bound at the base of his skull. His muscles seemed to strain against his leather garments. "Your first trial will be focused around hand-to-hand combat," he said, scanning the crowd with hard, dark brown eyes. "We'll spend the morning doing stretches."
Desiree thought her legs were going to fall off. Over the course of an hour, Captain Fenryk had the group of Prospects perform various stretches that he claimed were to help prevent pulling muscles while sparring, but Desiree was convinced this was torture for the Captain's own personal pleasure.
Some Prospects seemed to handle the stretches with ease, while Desiree and others struggled to hold the simplest of positions for more than a few seconds. The longer they spent working on stretches, the more Desiree's mind raced. How could she become a Retriever if she couldn't even keep up with the simplest exercises?
By the time Captain Fenryk dismissed the Prospects for a light lunch, Desiree's legs were shaking with the effort to keep herself upright. As for her aching backside–if these exercises didn't cause her to grow an ass overnight, she decided she'd quit before the last bit of her sanity could vanish.
On the other side of the training arena, there were several large tables that had been set with food while the Prospects did their exercises. Desiree found herself wedged between two other female Prospects at a cramped table. The meal before her was light, some dried fruit with granola and bread, but she supposed it was to keep the Prospects from sparring on completely full bellies. If she was lucky, perhaps she would get a dense supper. She knew better than to hope for anything other than the scraps passed as rations at the Quarter base, but her new unit seemed promising.
No one spoke as they ate, though there were many glances about the room as the Prospects sized up their competition. Desiree tried not to think about how she'd never even been in a fist fight while she ate her lunch. The idea of facing off–and most definitely losing against one of her peers nearly killed her appetite.
Captain Fenryk had the Prospects complete several additional exercises after the meal to help prepare them for sparring. By the time they were finished, there wasn't a single body part of Desiree's that hadn't been set on fire. She found herself shifting on her feet as the sadistic captain paced in front of the Prospects, trying to keep her legs from buckling beneath her weight.
For a few moments, Captain Fenryk was silent, his eyes flitting around the arena to observe each Prospect as he paced. His eyes fell on Desiree for a brief moment, but she could feel him analyzing her in those few seconds. She wondered if he already knew how terribly she'd fail this trial, but the Captain's eyes betrayed nothing as they moved on to the next Prospect.
"The trial you will complete today will be a test of physical strength and skill," Captain Fenryk continued pacing, clasping his hands behind his back. "Each of you will be paired with another Prospect who matches you in height and weight. You will fight until either you or your opponent has become incapacitated, and the victor will move on to the next opponent. Those who lose their matches will be released either to the infirmary or back to their barracks. Your performance in this trial will not determine whether or not you will remain Retrievers, however, I suggest that each of you fight your best. Good luck."
Desiree heaved a sigh of relief when she saw her assigned sparring partner. She was about Desiree's height and nearly as malnourished. Her pale, blonde hair was cropped close to her scalp, making her gaunt features appear more severe, and her wide, blue eyes nearly matched the dark circles beneath them. Desiree wondered if her opponent was thinking the same thing about her, but the woman wasted no time as she squared her slim shoulders and charged Desiree.
Caught completely off guard, Desiree barely had time to dive out of the way before her opponent tackled her. The fire in her limbs slowly dissipated, replaced by the adrenaline that began to course through her veins. The woman spun and made to charge Desiree again, but Desiree let herself remain in the woman's path. Once her opponent was close enough, Desiree spun out of the way and landed a sloppy kick to the back of the woman's knee.
Desiree's opponent went down hard, but her glee was short-lived. The woman swung out a leg, sweeping Desiree's out from underneath her. The look of utter triumph on her opponent's face was the last thing Desiree saw before she landed nose-first on the ground.
✧✦✧
The Fox Legion infirmary was a pleasant place. It was warm and clean, but Desiree was most relieved by the lack of sick and dying soldiers that often overflowed from Quarter's infirmary.
Desiree found that she'd rather be stuck with the sick and dying at Quarter if it meant she could have Selene as her medic. Instead, she was greeted by the unfamiliar face of an aging man hovering over hers when she awoke.
"You fractured your nose, but there is no evidence of a new concussion. However, it seems that you are still recovering from a previous one," the male medic said. His bushy, graying brows knitted together as he added, "Do you fall often?"
Bewildered, Desiree opened her mouth to speak, but promptly shut it as a wave of pain permeated through her entire face.
"Right," the medic hummed. He stood up from the short, wooden stool he'd been perching on and reached into one of the cabinets lining the walls of the infirmary. After rummaging for a moment, he withdrew a vial of violet colored liquid. He sat back down on his stool and removed the cork from the vial before putting it to Desiree's mouth. "Drink up."
Desiree tried to jerk her head to the side, but the raw agony radiating from her nose rendered her unable to move. The medic wedged the vial between her lips and Desiree found herself unable to prevent the mystery liquid from trickling into her mouth. It tasted sweet, not quite like the succulent fruit that grew around her village, but more like the tasty candies Aunt Jessa would buy her on special occasions. It flowed thicker than water, nearly as thick as syrup, but also fizzed as it made contact with her tongue. Desiree had never drank anything like it.
"Your nose should be fully healed by tomorrow evening," the medic set the empty vial on the small table next to Desiree's cot, "but I'll need to set your nose before I send you back to your barracks."
Wounded Prospects had begun trickling into the infirmary by the time the medic had cleared Desiree to leave. The healing tonic, as the medic had called it, did a great deal to lessen her pain, but did little for the torment that ensued as the medic shifted her cartilage back into place. Although she was sure it could be heard throughout the base, Desiree thanked the Divine that the medic was the only witness to her screaming and retching.
The hearty meal awaiting Desiree at the temporary barracks was not nearly enough to make up for the day's events, but it was a start. She was one of the first to arrive, and the several other women who were already eating at the large tables hardly spared her a glance as she entered the threshold of the dining area. Against the innermost wall of the dining area, there was a large oak table, nearly twice the size of the others, that held plates, cutlery, and a variety of food trays. Desiree wasn't certain that she could eat after expelling everything from her stomach at the infirmary, but the delightful scent of roasted lamb and spices had her stomach rumbling.
The scent… Desiree realized with a start that despite the state of her mangled nose, her sense of smell was already returning. How that could be, she had not a clue. She found herself increasingly unbothered by the thought as rows of nearly untouched food beckoned to her. She filled her plate with a heaping serving of lamb, potatoes, and vegetables before taking a seat at one of the empty tables.
Prospects slowly began to filter into the temporary barracks as Desiree was finishing her supper. It was a battle of will as Desiree resisted the temptation to refill her plate before the food disappeared into the bellies of her fellow Prospects. The other Prospects, however, paid her no mind even as she lifted her empty plate to her lips and swallowed the mingling juices left from the meat and oily vegetables. Despite having eaten such a large meal, the lingering memory of the tender lamb all but dissolving on her tongue made her stomach grumble its desire for seconds.
Steeling herself, Desiree got to her feet and discarded her dish into a bin placed next to the banquet tables. If being a Retriever meant always having such an extravagant supper, then sign her up for life.