Somewhere out there, a song was being played, children were dancing, and dogs were contentedly chewing on bones.
Our hero was pensive. She had been planning and waiting, and waiting and planning, and waiting to plan, and planning to wait, and finally the wait was over.
“Today, we act,” she told her small cadre of followers — no, “companions” would be a better word, or “colleagues.” These were good people but not willing to follow as much as they were willing to cooperate with the plan and collaborate, each for their own reasons, and then go their separate ways — well, except for that one with the gleam in his eye, who was not at all interested in separating when this was done. That was all right; she enjoyed the way they fit together, and their separation was always unwelcome.
And so, they all agreed to act that day.
When it was over, they celebrated, but not with an overwhelming joy, because the battle had taken one of their own, a victory made somber by the loss. Was she relieved that she had survived, and the handsome one with the gleam in his eye? Of course, and she felt a hint of shame that she thought, “At least it was that loss, not this one.”
Still, as they held each other that night, they pledged together that the loss would not be in vain, and they would work to ensure the day’s victory was a lasting one. It was the best they could do.