"Shiro?"

My call was unanswered. No, Shiro would not be coming. My heart sank as I recalled my friend's captivity in Tinto. He was wild, even less inclined to spend time beneath a roof than I was. Above me, the branches of the tree I reclined against formed the only roof I was wholly comfortable with. A wind stirred its branches, and the leaves rustled like a half-forgotten whisper playing in my mind.

The Mercenary Fortress lay a good day's walk behind me. I wondered if I would be branded a coward for fleeing as I had. The thought saddened me, if only momentarily; I had liked most of the men there, particularly Flik, and I would rather they thought no less of me. Perhaps I could have earned their respect, had I stayed ... and failed. Regardless, I had come to the realization that I would be completely useless in a battle, and I had acted on that realization.

Standing up, I pulled an arrow from my quiver and ran my finger along it. It was well-made -- Chelios had always insisted that a good archer must also learn to be a good fletcher -- and in the hands of a skilled bowman it would fly truly to its target. I lifted it to my bow and aimed high, at a bird that flew overhead. I waited a split second, set my hands determinedly, and let loose the arrow.

It sailed off harmlessly into the clouds.

I dropped the bow. My aim was not a problem; my eyes had been trained by a master, as had my hands. My simple inability to kill was what prevented me from staying at the Fortress. It was one thing to shoot at a stuffed dummy; it was another thing entirely to strip another living creature of its existence.

I sighed and leaned back, feeling the rough texture of the bark against my exposed arms. Yes, death came to all living things. I learned that when I was a very young child. But killing -- murder -- was wrong, and no amount of politics or justifications could make it right. Mankind loved to obscure its faults with rationalizations, excuses, 'good reasons' for committing grievous crimes. Killing was one such crime; I could feel the wrongness of it, even when it gave itself glorious titles like "a fight for freedom". That was why I had left the Mercenary Fortress. They would have expected me to put up a good fight, and I would disappoint them at the time they needed my weapon most, because I couldn't convince myself that their fight was right. Oh, I had seen what the Highland army could do. Even before Toto, I had run-ins with soldiers in my forest. And I knew that the mercenaries were good men. A bit rough, perhaps, but they were welcoming enough to admit me, the one who never could manage to fit in with other humans. But I couldn't condone killing in any circumstances.

It occurred to me that I had started to train the soldiers. They weren't altogether unskilled to begin with, but I found myself being picky in a manner that would have made Chelios proud. Perhaps they would now be better prepared to defend against the Highlanders. Perhaps I had given them the skill needed to defeat and destroy their attackers.

Had I taught them to kill?

I slouched against the tree. No. I would not continue that train of thought. They had asked me for help, and I had given it. Wasn't that the right thing to do? That, as far as I could tell, was the advantage to being a human. Humans are social creatures that help other members of their "packs". Unfortunately, I had lived so long as the only member of my species in the forest that I hadn't learned interaction skills.

Perhaps there were still survivors at Toto or Ryube. If so, surely they could use my help. I was familiar with plants of the forest, and I could probably use my knowledge to heal the wounded --

No. I had already been to Ryube, and the few that had survived the initial attack died shortly afterward. The same applied for Toto; besides, if any had lived, they had been helped already. I began to realize that my contribution to the war recovery would not be curing the hurt. If only I could persuade the Highlanders to stop this senseless killing... if only I could get to their king and convince him that murder is never right, no matter what the circumstances, perhaps all this would end. Or maybe not. The man had to know that his own son was slaughtering civilians and destroying entire villages, but he appeared to be doing nothing to stop it. If anything, he seemed to be encouraging the massacres. Besides, the likelihood of him listening to a simple forest man like me was just about nonexistent. I would have to realize my own limitations if I planned on making any sort of difference.

Overhead, the sun was shining brightly. It was too beautiful a day to dwell on death and the madness of politics. My mercenary friends would prevail without me; I was confident in them. In the meantime, I could think of nothing to do but walk, whistling to the birds that dotted a far-reaching blue sky.

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"Kinnison" and "Suikoden 2" are (C) Konami This chapter was posted June 25, 2000