Documented history

The planet of Faranorn doesn’t have much of a history. A Frontier world, it was founded and colonized only a few decades ago by the Imperium and serves as nothing more than an outpost in the Caldera System that faces the approaching Tyranid fleet. Low on natural resources, Faranorn is nonetheless of great interest to the Imperium due to its high level of warp activity. Seven years ago, the Ordo Malleus organized an expedition into the frozen wastelands of Faranorn to seek out the source of the warp activity, but communication quickly ceased between them and command, and they were never seen again. Since then, a relatively large force of Imperial guardsmen, along with a detachment of heavy support and reconnaissance vehicles has been stationed on the planet, guarding it from a possible future threat of demonic incursion.

But what makes this so interesting, is that in the same system, two planets down orbits another planet, Kordin V, which was a forge world up until its destruction by order of Inquisitor Polonus during a routine inspection. Inquisitor Polonus deemed the world to be rife with heresy and beyond saving. The Imperial Guard company assigned to the planet was ordered to evacuate and the planet to be exterminated. With no small amount of regret the Imperial Fleet bombed the planet to extinction, and was left stranded with no planet to call home. Inquisitor Polonus soon departed the system and returned to Terra, where he was quickly executed for issuing such a grave order without any solid proof. The 301^st Kordin Marshalls were spared for their hand in destroying the planet, and were assigned to Faranorn to bolster the already substantial force there.

At first tensions were high. The 12^th Faranorn Wardens resented the arrival of troops that had destroyed their own home planet. Eventually though the tensions faded away under a sense of camaraderie, as both regiments knew they were just as forsaken as the other.

Scarcely a year after the arrival of the Marshalls, Faranorn was invaded by a large chaos force. These forces, followers of Khorne, rained down from the sky like blood red raindrops, and it took the combined forces of the Wardens and the Marshalls one long year to finally eradicate every last trace of the chaos infestation. Since then, they have been beset upon by an Ork Waagh, a Tau expeditionary force, and even a rogue Space Marine chapter, but each time they have pushed back the invaders, though with no small loss to their own side.

Now, with the Tyranid splinter fleet pulsing and growing in size, the Wardens have painted their uniforms with a dark red trim, signifying the bond between them and the Marshalls, who in turn have painted their own uniforms with an ice-blue trim. Together they form a grizzled and veteran force, experienced in battles against many xenos and traitor scum, and they face the impending Tyranid invasion with countless lasrifles, glistening tank turrets and a grim determination to see it through to the end.

An End to Every Beginning

How long have I been? How long have I lived? Can it truly be life if I look forward to no death? After all, life only exists because there is a death to end it, as all things eventually come to an end. But what about me? Is there even a ‘me’? Is it ‘us’? What is it?

I remember my birth as if it was still occurring. But to describe it… picture nothing, then something. That’s how it was. First I wasn’t here, then I was. I think you can call that a birth, because I don’t remember anything before that moment. I felt myself getting bigger from that nothingness, expanding outwards and watching as little balls of dust clumped together, burned and boiled for a time, then cooled and took solid form. I watched the formation of stars, the bright beacons of light burning with a power immeasurable. I saw these balls of dust orbit stars and other balls of dust, little satellites spinning in the black void. Since then I have seen stars explode in righteous fury, swallowing planets and other stars with an uncaring hunger. I have seen the destruction a meteor wreaks as it hammers into the surface of a planet, rending it in two and knocking it from its orbit. I have seen planets collide with other planets, stars with other stars, galaxies with other galaxies; I have seen the death of worlds, sniffing out like an insignificant rain drop on the surface of a molten planet. From afar, the destructive power of a dying star is nothing more than a pathetic blink, a light turned off.

But of all these things, of all the wonders and chaos of a universe in motion, I still felt something I never quite understood. At first I ignored it, a sense of emptiness that I took to always be a part of me, but as time wore on and I witnessed this galactic pinball machine consume and destroy itself, I came to realize that there was no one my equal. Nothing worthy of my company. So I decided to make a companion. Summoning up all my vast knowledge that I had collected since I was thrust into this void, I approached a planet that caught my attention and moulded something extraordinary. Life. Insignificant at first, simple, single-celled organisms that swam in the primordial soup of their planet, these organisms soon progressed and changed, evolving into something more intricate, more complicated and far more interesting. They became strange, eight-legged creatures, with a long snout and pointed purple ears. They were short, looking as if they were crawling across the ground when they moved. They took this wonderful form, then stopped. Stagnated. Refused to adapt, to change and to become something better. They died out, in the end. Self-extinction, ridiculous.

So I tried again, and again, and again, on different planets, altering my methods slightly in the hopes of creating something that worked. I added in predators, different environments, altered climates, but all these creatures stagnated like the first, and died.

Then I came across another planet, this one similar to all the rest; blue, green with a swirling of white that covered it like a blanket. But as I tried to test my hand at creating life once again, I discovered something astonishing. This planet already had life. Tall furry creatures with short tails, a pair of arms and legs and an elongated face. And these creatures were not stagnating. They were not dying out. It was as if the universe had watched what I was doing and decided that it could do it better behind my back!

So now I wait. I don’t even know if new life has sprung elsewhere, as I am far too enthralled with watching this species evolve and adapt. It will take a while, this I know. But I am patient, and I can wait. One day there will be someone worthy of my company, and I will no longer feel so alone.

Welcome Home

“How’s it feel?”

“What?”

“How’s it feel being back?”

Towers of steel and concrete whipped past tinted glass windows. Littered month-old newspapers tossed in the air by the bullet-grey wind, smoking from rusted metal drums as fires flickered, burned the refuse of the destitute, homeless. Men dead to everyone but themselves wandered the cracked century-old pavement, ragged clothes hanging from lifeless arthritic bones and flaking rubbery skin. Like a cloud the car rumbled past, crunching gravel beneath 21 inch tyres polished to a gleaming sheen.

The smell of overturned rubbish, rotting meat and fermenting waste hung like a fog, soaking into every surface, clinging onto it stubbornly and refusing to relinquish its grip. The car rolled over and into this fog, filters failing to halt the smell from irritating eyes and noses.

A gunshot echoed, a siren drowned out by the rumbling five litre V8 engine.

“Feels like home.”

“We’ve moved up, you know. No longer the fucking scavengers our father made us be. Fucking amateur. We’ve moved up, and we’re still moving.”

“Jesus man, I can see that. What’s with the car?”

A tunnel loomed. The car entered, the almost unnatural sickly-grey light from the sun filtered by gloomy storm clouds replaced by the definitely unnatural strobe-light of hundreds of orange lights flying past overhead, casting maddening shadows for a span less than a second each. The occasional decrepit Chrysler, Ford or GMC hobbled past, coughing and spluttering in obvious agony. Support pillars rushed by at the same speed as the lights, each one like a muffled gunshot.

“It’s Terry’s. He’s the one we’re working for now. He’s treated us well man, gave us a home, a life, man. He-”

“He’s the fucking Devil, and you’ve sold your fucking souls to him.”

Amidst the turmoil of the rushing pillars, strobing lights and the claustrophobic atmosphere of the tunnel, vacuum-sealed silence was all that existed in the car. The tunnel ended and the lingering smell eventually faded. Towers of a newer age dotted the blocks, people in suits holding briefcases and phones scurrying to the nearest hive. Asphalt smooth and unbroken, trod on by expensive leather soles.

“Don’t be like that man. I know you and him had some kind of bad business back in the day but-”

“He fucking betrayed me and left me to die! Left us to die! And now you’re licking the hand that beat the shit out of us all. Dad’d be turning in his grave.”

“Dad was a poser. He kept talking big but he never followed up on it. He never chased his dreams. We are! We’re doing what he could never do, but we need connections and we need an alliance. Better to have him on our side man, than on theirs.”

“Whose?”

“The Irish. They’re trying to muscle in on our turf. Been taking control of deals, taking out our dealers. It’s a fucking shitstorm.”

A sigh and a groan.

“Alright. Let’s take care of the Irish first. Then I deal with Terry.”

The watefront. Glistening blue, uncaring ocean stained grey by uncaring dock workers. Staring at low brick and timber buildings. Buildings that stared right back.

The Shifting

Tonight was the eve of the Shifting, and Leaf was excited. The Shifting was a yearly event, where the buildings in the Nari district would pick themselves up from the ground, walk down streets, around corners and up hills, and sit back down in a new place they desired, and Leaf had been hoping for his family’s home to move closer to the park where there were swings and slides for him to play on. It was a strange occurrence, one without proper explanation. Many expert Thaumaturgists and Enchanters believed that the intersecting Ley Lines that ran underneath Nari bestowed upon the buildings a primitive sense of sentiency, granting them awareness of their surroundings and their occupants. But why this only occurred once a year, and always on the same day, and why they only changed places and not go wandering off to the local bar for a pot of ale, was a question not easily answered.

The time was drawing near. The moon had risen, tonight higher than normal as if it was as eager to watch this phenomenon as the population of Nari. Each house was adorned in a unique pattern of lights, some flashing, some steady, all different coloured. This was to identify which house belonged to which family after the Shifting was over, as most of the buildings looked the same. Everyone was gathered in the town centre, guarded by intricate glyphs in case one of the houses took a wrong turn and barrelled down towards them. It had never happened before, but one can never be too certain.  Leaf was with his mother, and the watched their house as the time ticked over to midnight.

Everyone held their breath. Not a sound could be heard.

Then a great rumbling bounced through the earth and up Leaf’s legs as all the buildings slowly stood up, supported by thick wrought-iron legs. Like a procession of ants, one after the other, they filed their way down the road, not a single one brushing against another. Leaf tried to follow his house with his gaze but quickly lost sight of it as it neared an intersection and turned left. Towards the park. Leaf yelled in happiness and pointed. His mother smiled.

The glyphs evaporated as the Enchanters ceased their intricate hand movements and the townsfolk rushed to find their homes. From another road off to the side, another procession of homes appeared, these adorned in different, foreign lights, and sat down comfortably in the spaces left behind by the old homes. People hurried down the road their homes had walked on, eager to see where they would be living for the next year. Leaf and his family rushed quicker than most, thanks to Leaf’s impatience. They walked past a long row of houses, their lights still waving from their motion, but didn’t spot their own. They were getting close to the park now, and Leaf could see the darkened forms of the trees in the distance.

There, edging the road that bordered the park with its swings and slides, was the familiar pattern and colour of the lights they had decorated their home with. The door was open and the windows uncovered, and Leaf squealed in delight. He hugged his mother and ran inside, and his family followed.

Meeting Dirt

“Shit.”

Michael kicked the car and hurt his foot. Steam billowed from the engine and an unpleasant burning odour filled his nostrils. He sighed and sat down in the driver’s seat, punching in the local mechanic’s number on his phone, only to be greeted with a monotone beeping that told him he was too far in the middle of nowhere to get any kind of reception. He sat for a while, shielded from the sun as it crawled across the sky, and weighed his options.

They were very few.

The road he had been travelling on separated a thick and massive forest that sprawled through half the state and spilled into the neighbouring ones, and a long and barren stretch of dirtland, not quite desert, but nowhere near grassy enough to be labelled a meadow. The contrast was unnerving, to see an abundance of life up against the apparent lifelessness of the dirtland. And to see himself and his unreliable rental traversing that tentative border, a kind of artificial no-man’s-land that divided two warring nations.

Michael lost track of time for a little while and the sun sped up a bit. From the forest, a strange wind blew, a combination of hot and humid and cold and dry and Michael’s throat suddenly felt very dry. He smacked his lips, which were cracked and chaffed, and guzzled the last of his water in the car. Then he laughed, louder than he’d laughed before, until he started coughing and spluttering like a smoker.

“I can’t believe I’m going to die out here. I can’t believe no one else uses this road. And I can’t believe that this fucking piece of shit broke down.”

“What is a fucking pieceofshit?” Spoke a voice from behind him, and Michael jumped and tumbled out of his car, smacking his head painfully on the dirt.

“What the fuck… Ow. Who’s that? Who’s there?” Michael said in between complaints. In response, a small orange head peeked over the top of his car. The head belonged to an equally small girl, who looked somewhere between 12 and 20 years old, and wore a dirty leather ensemble, coloured orange and brown. She looked so dishevelled even her rags were in rags, and her tatters tattered. She had wide hazel-brown eyes that seemed to be in perpetual amazement, as if she were seeing everything for the first time.

“Hello.”

“Uh… what’s your name? Where’s your mummy?”

“I don’t think I have a name… and I don’t know where my mummy is, have you seen her?”

“You don’t have a name? Well, what do people call you when they meet you?”

The little girl smiled and jumped onto the roof of the car. “They call me Dirt. Is Dirt my name?”

“Dirt?” Michael rubbed his head. A lump was forming. “Do they call you anything else?”

“They call me Dirty too. Am I Dirty?”

“Let’s just go with Dirt. And you don’t know where your mummy is? When did you last see her?”

Dirt scratched her head and mud flaked off and out of her hair. She scrunched up her face in concentration.

“The last time I saw her… there were horses. And a biiiiig house. We had a big garden and there were people who made our food.”

Ruins

The temple was old, decrepit; worn away to a dull, smooth surface. Thick vines wrapped around the entire complex, a python strangling an aged elephant. A narrow winding stream led to the entrance, flowing outward. We were following that river, upstream, when we stumbled across the ruins of an overturned column that had once supported the weight of the stone roof. It was barely recognizable, the forest well on its way reclaiming it.

I signalled the men to stop and holster their weapons. The last thing I wanted was an errant bullet chipping off priceless Mayan carvings. We approached with more than the required level of caution, acutely aware of the sound of our own feet. Each crack of a twig echoed as if it were a log stepped on by a giant. Each shuffling of dirt sounded like a bulldozer carving its way through the trees. The stream bubbled and trickled over rocks, pebbles and boulders but other than that and our own human clumsiness, the forest was still. This should have worried me, worried us all; birds screech, rats scamper and the forest breathes like an old god. Now, it was holding its breath, and with it the rest of its inhabitants.

Then the entire front portion of the fallen complex pulled itself out of the ground and with apparent agony pulled itself to its feet, vines and dirt falling off it in great clusters. We had by now fallen on our backsides in shock, but I managed to get a good look at the towering stone giant. What I had originally thought to be part of the temple complex was actually a fallen statue; it had been buried on its side, half in the mud, so half its torso and its left arm had me fooled for a wall, and its head was bent backward and out of my immediate sight. Now that it had stood erect, the fact that it was a statue was abundantly clear, and it stood almost as high as the tallest trees in the forest. Its head was the most curious aspect of it though; designed like the Maya Mask that resides in the Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, it was shaped like a rectangle, with big puffy lips and an oversized nose with a curly head of hair. Stone eyes gazed down and regarded us like the insects we were, and it took me a few moments to realize that some of the words forming in my head weren’t my own, and that the statue was communicating with us.

Why are you here?

“You can speak English?” I spoke, feeling a bit silly as my words echoed loudly across the silent forest. Behind me I gathered strange looks, but I ignored them.

I speak the language of your mind. I understand you because the words you intend to speak are recognizable to me, even if the noise you make is not. You understand me because of much the same reason, intention over performance. Now, why are you here?

Memories of Childhood

Lazy summer nights spent in the paddocks at my grandpa’s place. Among the buzzing of the natives that live between the blades of grass. Feeling the soft night’s wind kiss my face like a long-lost lover finally returned home. Hearing the crickets sing a tune to woo lovers of their own. The bleating of sheep not yet asleep. The nasal whine of cows grazing in the fields. A dog barking, a cat meowling back at the farmhouse. A horse neighs anxiously.

Nights become days, then nights then days. Each night is hotter than the last. Vibrant green grass turns brown and lifeless. Dry blades prickle my back, my neck, my arms, my legs. Long shoots of native grass still wave in the gentle wind. The wind that is too weak to bring with it the rain. Crickets make less noise, less still search for lovers. Sheep still bleat, horses whine. The cows still ruffle through the grass, searching for what little food is left. Dogs howl. Cats meow. The heat stifles.

Then the days become hotter still. Grass disappears, leaving the soil sterile, barren, cracked like the lips of a fisherman. The quiet buzzing is gone. The crickets are gone, dry grass blades no longer prickle me. The sheep still bleat, hungry and restless. The horses shift nervously and stamp the ground with iron horseshoes. The cows are silent. The cow paddocks are empty, devoid, as barren as the scorched earth.

The days no longer get hotter, but it feels that way. There is no more grass left to kill, no paddocks left to burn. Stored hay is the sole food for much of the livestock. I no longer lay on the ground. It’s too hot. Cruel wind brings nothing but a temptation it never satisfies. Promises it never keeps. Cool nothingness blasts away the heat for a brief moment, but the void is so quickly filled it was never there to begin with. Prints in the shape of iron horseshoes are imprinted in another barren paddock.

A rooster heralds the coming of a new morning. A dog barks in response. A cool change is felt, something more than cruel promises. The cool outweighs the warm, and blotchy metal grey clouds obscure the sun. The ground is cold enough to lie on. Dust gets in my nose, my eyes, my mouth. The parched earth cries out for water. The heavens grant it. Fat drops hit the ground and sizzle like bacon fat on the pan. Then the rain drowns out the sizzle and the earth soaks in every drop like a sponge. Sheep bleat in annoyance, wool coat waterlogged. A dog barks and a cat meows. Everything else is silent.

Summer’s end. The earth is satisfied. The crickets have returned, serenading the fairer sex. Cows moo contently as they graze the newborn grass and horses stamp their hooves. The farm has survived a summer-long drought. I smile and lie on the ground, among the buzzing of the natives and the whistling of the crickets.

[Story Excerpt]

I reached the city just before dawn, and it lit up the sky like a miniature sun. It glowed an unnatural orange as flames devoured its homes, its chapels and its markets. Screams erupted from within its walls as what was left of the watch desperately tried to create some semblance of order. Troops were stationed on the front gate, cutting anyone down who tried to flee. The city, Antaros, Jewel of the Seven Rivers and pride of the Reiden Empire had become a death-trap, a blazing inferno from which there was no escape.

I withdrew my bow and watched, tears plastering my face and my heart pounding with a mad desire for vengeance, as the soldiers slaughtered a young Antarian couple as they tried to escape the destruction of their home. I notched an arrow onto the string and pulled it taut, aiming at the soldier closest to me who seemed like the sergeant in charge of the group. I released the string, arrow whistling unheard through the pre-dawn air until it found the soft fleshy target of the soldier’s neck. The other soldiers didn’t notice their leader was dead until his body fell to the ground, but by then I’d already loaded and fired another three arrows and they quickly joined him.

I emerged from the shrubbery that ringed the city and ran to the now undefended gate. The doors were slightly ajar, wide enough for me to fit, and I wormed my way in and found myself in the market district. I’d hardly ever visited the area as a child, my mother doing the shopping and I instead entertaining myself in the gardens and ruins of the old city. But I remembered this place well enough to know that to my left was where Donnell the smithy had his shop, across the road from a long row of low-lying buildings that housed the tailor, the solicitor and the tavern on the corner, amongst other things. It was a narrow road that led up and away from the market to the town centre, and to my right was the opening where travelling merchants would set up their stalls to sell their wares. On better days the market would be teeming with bodies as people bumped into one another searching for basic goods or weapons. Today, almost all the buildings were on fire, and people were fighting in the streets.

But they weren’t just normal citizens brawling; the King’s Capes were fighting with the civilian populace, and even the occasional town guard. It was a bloodbath moreso than an even fight as the skill and strength of the Capes saw them simply wade through the desperate punches and kicks of most of the populace. But for every one of the Capes that dotted the market quarter, there were at least five civilians savagely throwing themselves at the enigmatic soldiers, and they wore many of them down through sheer weight of numbers. Against the town guard the fight was a bit more even, though they still needed at least two or three to be any real threat.

Transmission From the Front Lines

[‘Transmission From the Front Lines’, Broadcast 713E, Lt Jonah Greene final report]

…

“…Hope this gets through. This is Lieutenant Jonah Greene of the 112^th Infantry Battalion, the Flying Hellhounds. Today is the 30^th of November, 2057 which marks the thirtieth day of fighting, if you can even call it that, and most of my platoon has been lost. For those unaware of who we are or where we were stationed, we were sent to reinforce Caldin’s Bunker, a small stronghold on the west border, near the river, of what used to be Helsinki. The garrison was nothing more than a skeleton crew, and we were equipped with just enough supplies and equipment for ourselves. This was the first big mistake, because the garrison had been rationing what little food they had left, and the arrival of a fresh platoon without food or water was met with more animosity than it should have. We shared, of course. We were in this together. But fights broke out, more than a few men and women were injured, some severely, over who deserved how much food.

[There are gunshots nearby, followed by the hissing crack of Xenos weaponry]

“…Was the second mistake. We were under the assumption that Caldin’s Bunker was equipped with anti-tank and anti-air batteries. What we saw was outdated, pre-invasion era tech not even capable of punching a hole through the Lin’s deflection fields. Everything we shot at them just… well, it was deflected…

[A loud explosion rocks the camera and the microphone suffers from severe feedback for a moment, until the echo ceases]

“They’ve been bombing us non-stop since before their infantry even arrived. They softened us up before they slaughtered us like pigs.  The assault began during predawn, at 0400 at the beginning on the month. That’s when the bombs began to fall on the fort and we were forced to take shelter underground. We radioed in for some Z bombers or naval support through the river, but that was our third and final mistake. Relying on the brass to give two shits about the frontliners. We were force fed some bullshit about our air assets being tied up across the border along with our navy and told to deal with it on our own.

“So we dealt with it as best we can. Caldin’s Bunker sits on top of a massive underground network of tunnels, and that’s where we took the fight. Now, thirty days on we are still fighting, even though the Lin have already taken control of the bunker itself. They don’t do so well underground, and even less well with guerrilla warfare. But we can’t do this forever. Every man we lose we can never get back. Every Lin they lose there are a hundred more ready to take its place. Once again, I ask, we need help, we need reinforcements. Or evacuation. We need some sign that people know we’re still alive and fighting out there.

“This is Lieutenant Jonah Greene of the 112^th Infantry Battalion, the Flying Hellhounds, signing off at 2245 hours. Ave Gaia.”

A man covered in medals and accolades clicked the screen off. Beside him, another man spoke something in his ear.

“This is going much better than I had anticipated. It seems it’s true then; guerrilla warfare is something they’ve never encountered before. Keep the project running, I want to see how it ends.”

Don’t Look Back

Ten stories below small waves slapped pitifully against the reinforced steel hull of this great ship. Out here, in the middle of the Atlantic and away from the smoke and the fog of countless industries and factories that mottled London like a bad case of Chicken Pox I could see – truly see – the sky for the first time. I could see the millions and more stars that were scattered all over the big black blanket of night and even though I knew it was absurd, I felt as if each speck of cosmic light had its gaze trained on me, on this measly little boat. The moon was like a thousand of these stars rolled together into one bright ball that hung precariously over us all. Tonight it was so bright and so full, I could see its pockmarked and scarred face, like that of an old war veteran’s.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

I nodded. I’d caught glimpses of this gal during the many days spent lounging on the deck, soaking in the sun and the salt wind. She was a knockout, with long milky-white legs that had developed an appealing colour thanks to those sunny days and a face like an angel. I was surprised she’d approached, but too uncaring to show it. I was enraptured by the silvery light of the moon.

“April.” She said, extending an arm. I looked at her, this time, and her hand. I then smiled and took her hand in mine. “Tommy. Pleased to meet you.” She smiled back.

There was more silence as the two of us stared out into the ocean, lost in our own thoughts and lives like we were two lovebirds who’ve never loved before.

“I already miss her.”

London. I don’t. But I didn’t say that. Instead I said “What’s the reason you left, then, if not to escape the motherland?”

She laughed softly, and I could feel, as much as hear, the sadness in her voice. “There’s nothing left for me but memories, memories I don’t want.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

“Why did you leave?”

I sighed. “London never felt like home. Cramped houses, having everyone and the Queen as a neighbour; it didn’t feel comfortable. Out here is where I belong, under stars untainted by smog, or out on a farm away from everyone.”

We fell silent again, each not knowing what to say to the other.

“Where are you getting off?”

“A town called Perth. I hear English pounds can get you a nice piece of land to farm. You?”

“Melbourne. A young city and full of opportunity. It’s what I need.”

I nodded, and smiled. “That sounds nice. Maybe I’ll come visit you in your highrise apartment when you get rich and famous.”

April smiled back. “And maybe I’ll come visit you on your farm, and you can teach me to herd cattle.”

I chuckled. “I’d like to see that.”

After a few moments under the moonlight, lost once again in the maze of our minds, April stood up and kissed me gently on the cheek and said goodbye. I watched her go with a pang of sadness and slowly drowned in a sea of unanswered questions, knowing full well the answer to the one question I didn’t want answered: Will I ever see you again?

Like a ghost, she vanished into the sea mist that rolled onto the deck, and took with her a part of me I’d never get back.