I have dreamed several times of being Deirdre at an older age, caught up in a war between North Stovak and South, after a period of peace that indicates an agent did get them to resolve the civil wars by dividing the nation in two—though apparently the conflicts flared up again anyway.

          I also dreamed (years earlier in internal time) of visiting the half-built chapel with Cyran.  I dreamed of kneeling in one of four side-chapels, still unroofed, that I recognized as dedicated to my patron saint.  The dream did not specify the saint’s name.  I just knew her as mine.  I felt a tremendous, heart-weary gratitude for this chance to take refuge in holiness, for a few sacred moments, before taking up arms again.  In the dream, peaceful though it seemed, I remained a soldier throughout.

          I wrote, however, Deirdre’s litany of the dead.  But she would have made it.  Not just as Deirdre Keller of the Tilián, but even more so as Deirdre of the Egalitarians.

          Extra.