Prisoners/ex-patriots all...
"Garrett looks at the still form lying next to Melissa. “She made her choice, as mine has been made for me by the intellect.”
“I can’t just let her die.”
"When Garrett doesn’t speak immediately Melissa leans in even closer to the bars between the cells and whispers. “I like her.”
“Gris isn’t a prize for you to win and make decisions for. Gris is the howling of the wind in the fiercest silt storm, and like any woman she is just as free to come and go as she pleases. If she would rather die than become a servant that’s her choice. If she would rather be stubborn than do what it takes to survive there is nothing you can do to stop her.”
"Melissa puts a hand on the tribal woman’s shoulder. “Her honor is everything to her, she’s braver than I could ever be.”
“There’s nothing brave about a hunger strike, or attempting to commit suicide at the hands of your captors. The world forgets martyrs just as easily as it forgets tyrants.”
“So what? Conviction means nothing?”
“Convictions look good on paper, hell, even better when carefully scribed on a marble tombstone, but no one is going to read about her convictions and if we fail to get out of this then no one will be left to remember her noble yet most stubborn of sacrifices.”
"Melissa makes a sound, something between disgust and pity. “What an awful and dark place the world must be in your eyes.”
"Garrett lays back down, looking into the hollow sockets of the skull of the fetid corpse next to him. He closes his eyes and a ghost threatens to dance down his spine. Images of Elizabeth twirling in the meadow behind his aunt’s homestead, the sun light shining behind her, creep into his mind. That was the best of days, truly when the world was evergreen and full of promise."
“I see the world as it is, but that doesn’t mean I look upon it without hope. I’ll be back with my people soon and I will commit the rest of my days to a humble joy unknown in dark times such as these.”
"Melissa doesn’t respond and Garrett feels the tug of sleep again, it’s peaceful shroud embracing and drawing him away from reality once more. Yet there is something else waiting, that meadow, the bleating of the farm animals, Elizabeth twirling endlessly in the cascade of sun. One eye, as green as the emerald that once hung between her…no, not that again."