Couriers, as such, were deemed civilians, and didn’t perform military salutes. ‘Speak the talk but can’t walk the walk,’ commented the officer, who wore scars as his only medals of recommendation. ‘Have you considered a military career once your wings dry out?’ ‘I have considered many careers, Sir,’ said Zoa. ‘You’re too good at this to take another path,’ said the officer, ‘but there is no harm in dreaming of a better life.’ Zoa said nothing. ‘The blood preserved well,’ informed the officer, finally moving to the matter at hand. ‘It still provides a clear connection to our tracksters.’ Only Zoa and the officer were present. Otherwise he wouldn’t have used the unofficial, derogatory term, for the half-sighted seers the military had at its disposal. ‘All of them are still depicting the same route for the monster’s travel.’ ‘There’s no sign of interference then?’ asked Zoa. ‘Not yet.’ ‘Any word on whether or not the first traps had any effect?’ The officer shook his head. ‘The spider. She was becoming a frequent guest at our place. Wendy, I was learning, admired Sandra greatly. She viewed her as a role model, an embodiment of everything she aspired to in life.On more than one occasion, I questioned the wisdom of Sandra's regular visits, although I too had grown quite fond of her. She'd long since discarded the shawl, no longer deeming it necessary to visit us incognito. "Are you sure you aren't letting your guard down too much?" I asked her one evening during the last week of December, as the three of us sat down after enjoying one of Wendy's stupendous meals. Somebody, somewhere, had taught that young lady to cook, and quite well. I was reaping the benefits of that on a daily basis."No one has even bothered to question me," Sandra pointed out. "If we get to the point where they begin to push back, I'll back off. Until then, it's my job to check up on you." Okay, Mother Hen," I laughed. I enjoyed teasing Sandra; she unfailingly took it in good humor. "Remember,.
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