"Prepare ourselves?" he said, now facing her. It sounded more like an accusation than a question. "To make our final stand? I see no other preparation taking place here, save for the manner in which we each will face death."
"We are warriors," Dorain reminded him. "We must do what we must. Our personal lives were set aside the day we took up the sword."
"You do not really believe that," Brogan rejoined flatly. "Even soldiers have personal lives."
"I . . . that may be true of yourself, but it is not . . . it isn't true of me!" she stammered.
"Then why have you followed me all this long way?" Brogan said, studying her tense features, the manner in which she avoided his eye.
"I took this mission because-"
"What mission?" he provoked unkindly.
"Why . . . the . . ." Dorain stopped herself, suddenly aware how foolish her rationalisations would sound, even to herself. "I did not follow you here!" she blurted, angry now.
Standing over her, his angry features dark and implacable, he demanded, "No? Well, if there is another explanation, then tell me plainly what it is! What other cause finds you derelict in your responsibilities to your own people? Are you here to enact some secret strategy of your superiors that will give us some advantage in our dealings with the Enemy? Do you think me to be so unobservant of your behaviour, or so obtuse?"