Clouds unhurried, drift through the night. A luminous belt of stars ride the wake in sky's calm ocean, this earth nothing more than cracked mud and tired scrub, shrinking from the incessant chill wind. All is illuminated in hues of inky blue, silhouetted tendrils glide across this moon's dull glow, changing the depth of tones. Only god's men travel to this place and then only those in great need of solitude.

She stands within plain sight just below slopes summit, visible only as a vague shadow. 600 paces below in a shallow basin, triangular frames are consumed in fabric. The battering wind assaults the canvas, resounding through the vista as if from giant beating wings. Her mind skips to the beat of 16 hearts. 11 are at slumber, slow, pumping blood's energies for weary limbs. Five more beat faster; three circle attentive and two pace the corridors between these parallel constructions, all alert: mans reluctance to be in this barren place seldom a guarantee mankind's dangers are far away.

Wispy fingers pass before the moon, her dim shadow further lost to the night. The weapon cradled in her left hand is light and compact with a minimal recoil, especially suited to immature hands. The magazine holds six rounds of law enforcement calibre, this last chosen for its reliability in stopping the intended, dead in their tracks. She has an extra round racked in the chamber, a total of seven gleaming missiles, more than she will need. The battered leather holster is strapped at the base of her back, with safety engaged the weapon slides home with a soft resonance and is secured into place. She will only come to this at the very last, it is not her favoured means. For this, her right hand rests on a hilt fastened to her right leg. Circular and narrow, it is bound in leather, worn, shaped to the contour of these small hands. Wrapping her palm tightly around this leather she gently eases the blade free, steel sighing against its metal rimmed sheath before being pushed firmly back into place. About her she pulls tight the dark cloak that would free itself to play in the wind, knotting it into place, drawing it around a face of youthful skin, radiant despite dark smears.

Long lashes blink over large eyes dark of wide pupil, moist lips part to reveal white teeth, into which she pushes a herb and begins softly chewing. Taking all in. These structures comprise a makeshift barracks, four parallel rows stretching away, separated by three corridors grounded in the same dry tundra with the sky for a ceiling. Each is a playground for diverted currents.

Standing in this wind she is but a restless shadow, lowering herself to the ground she dissolves, outstretched she is invisible to all but a few that prey, circling in the sky. Slowly her left arm stretches forward, followed by the right leg, repeated in opposites. All are spread wide, contorting shape, drawing cloak and body, ever closer, so gradual her progress, so small her form. It would be a lazy throw's distance from the nearest beating heart, before some abnormality at the edges of vision would be discerned. Even if the momentum of wind were suddenly to change and her scent carried to caress sentry noses, its vapid sweetness would be blamed on minds want. She is known by very few and these call her Jane, her real name exists only in myth. Born to woman, living of mortal flesh, she now prepares for what life will inevitably be, working at the will of a mind sat pensive afar, following her every thought.

The two step is the beat her mind dances to, the ever changing cadence the rhythm of her body, ever towards her prey. He stops, looks in her direction, attention caught by material loose, slapped free by the wind, just beyond visions embrace. Dressed in anorak he crouches, slipping rifle from shoulder, pushing back the hood. Stepping slowly he begins to arc around the sounds source. She can feel his senses probing, straining above the tugging wind, beaten canvas and sway of scrub. Her beat is steady, palm wrapped around the leather hilt, mind dancing to both their rhythms. His is well trained and regulated but a drum roll louder than any nearby. Gradually, edging closer, the light makes clear the shaped silhouette of fabric, at odds with those around it. Leaning forward, the nozzle of his weapon pushed beneath her cloak, finger poised on metal, he rises; lifting the material he breaths out between pursed lips, relieved. Just an old rag blown from afar. At his side a small shadow rises silently, his nemesis only heralded by the sigh of metal on metal, his face turning, surprised eyes wide. As a breeze she is past him, cutting off screams escape with a momentary flicker of moon on steel.

Crouched at his head, pulling her cloak free from the scrub, his life gurgles into the cracks of mud. Knotting the material once more, she continues her crawl. 15 beating hearts.

14 beating hearts. An easy quarry dispatched with his rifle on the floor and his pride in hand, ejecting the warm residue of a day's liquid unto the grateful flora.

The play of events are starting to unfold. By the time she has located the third, he is already circling looking for the missing two, he softly whistling attention to the others, stationed in the corridors separating sleeping soldiers. Brief hand signals and these noiselessly fanning out diagonally at opposite ends of the camp. Her long lashes blink over wide calculating eyes. In a minute the third, having directed the remaining sentries will continue circling, his training is about checking perimeters. He passes no more than 10 paces from her statued form. A low whimper escapes from her throat, loud enough to be heard, silent enough to draw him in. Stopping, hesitating, then slowly moving closer, step over careful step, rifle pointing in her direction. He could now see the small dark form, crouching and cloaked. His voice a whisper, unsure; 'Ben?', his beat a familiar drum roll. Two more steps and he is stood looking down at her frightened upturned face, a girl on the verge of women shivering pathetic in the cold. His mouth hung open, lips waiting on some question of the mind, she rose. The blade entered just below the sternum, pierced his thumping heart and exited from the back of his neck before his brain registered anything was wrong, no time even to manifest the smile it had thought to conjure. Stepping back she let the body slump towards her. 13 beating hearts.

Crouching at visions boundary she removes her cloak and folding, places it on the ground. She is clothed in loose dark fabric: trousers and a top with arms that reach just below the elbow, exposed skin smeared dark just as her face. Her long hair is pulled back, tied in a bun and fastened securely using a short length of wood, no longer than a pencil, a technique copied from her mother. This whole image is about shadow and deceiving the eye.

If the encampment is a clock face she is poised, incriminated by the small hand, just beyond eight. The vibrant moon casts shifting shapes, dark echoes of the billowing fabric, but none reach anywhere near; twenty exposed paces across dusky open to the nearest embrace of these shadows. Reaching beneath her top, fingers skip over a belt fastened diagonally across her flesh, tracing across small blades before easing free a thin elliptical piece of wood. She holds it as if to skim a stone across water, waiting on the casual cloud. Just within the four o'clock, one of the two remaining sentries stands as a statue, outlined by a constantly shifting structure. His two beat is fast, all senses focused on the darkness, anxious eyes reaching out into the soft silhouette of the horizon. Finally the moon is blotted, pulling back her arm the wood is noiselessly ejected into the night sky. It will reach its highest pitch above the multitude beating hearts, the wind through angled slats emitting a low cry as a bird issuing a warning or just marking its position. The elliptical shape will take it on and some way past the enclosure.

The final stride is long and followed by a dive forward, leading with her left arm, letting the arch of her spine ride the earth, coming up in a crouch just a step short of the canvas. Lingering just above the mud dry dust marks her journey, quickly dissipated by a busy breeze. Resuming his vigilance the guard looks down from the unseen bird, scans the camp and then eyes delve back into the void. Soon there will be lots of shouting and running feet, but not yet. With the end of her blade she slices a small opening at this corner of fabric and enters the framed enclosure.

She is inside a rectangular military tent, high enough for a man to stand with a slight stoop. There are ten steps from where she stands to the flapped entrance and six to the slow breathing male to her left, sleeping soundly on his side. His eyes are closed facing her on a low wooden frame, a thick blanket hangs just above the covered floor. Regulating her breathing to coincide with his, she has just under one minute before his trained brain starts manufacturing the chaotic dreams that proceed conscious.

Killing a man is one thing but killing him noiselessly is entirely another. Even her accurate blade to this heart would not prevent seconds of shouting or thrashing in life's last throes. She certainly could not afford a mistake: If any one of these managed to get hold of her she could be tossed about with little more effort than that required of a heavy rucksack. She rose and with each outward breath stepped closer to his inert form, with each movement slowly reaching up and pulling free the wooden pin from her hair. She did not like this, this way of killing, it was too impersonal. His dreams were starting to reverberate through her mind, chaotic breathing, running hard from some dark fear chasing, a silent child cradled in his arms. She felt some good in him, not really a dark heart, believing his way was the light. Beating hearts. Leaning over, she lowered the tip of the wood just above his ear, angled it slightly and then pushed down hard with all her weight. The tip entered through his eardrum, broke through the temporal bone, pierced the inner cerebellum and obliterated the fine weave of nerve endings at the tip of the spinal cord. His eyes and mouth were thrown wide open in reflex. Heart halted in mid beat, paralysed, his final seconds were spent wondering why a young girl was crawling under his bunk. 12 beating hearts.

No sooner had she disappeared beneath the wooden slats, the front of the tent burst open, a head appeared followed by an urgent stream of words and then it was gone. She rolled from beneath the frame, glided to the material panel beside the entrance and sank to her haunches, finding a sack to clean her wooden pin and returning it firmly back into her hair.

She could feel the rising concern within the camp, running footsteps, restless torches creating long shadows randomly across the fabric. She knew that something in the man's mind would register in the dark image of his sleeping comrade, the open eyes. Long lashes blink over wide calculating eyes, cast up towards a forgotten length of string swaying from the metal frame of the roof. Another herb is pushed between her teeth, she felt him double back, a pause and then the flap opened.

First the light entered, the beam furtively foraging before settling on the face, then an arm holding a pistol and a partial body dressed in anorak. “Asif?” a hopeful call to the prone figure. “Asif!!”. The torches sentinel beam is followed by the gun, first left, then right, back to the bunk, pausing. The pool of light is played across the far end and beneath the wooden frame despite its small size. Satisfied, the canvas slapped closed and he moved over to the body, the small shadow falling in behind. The dull sound of metal slowly drawn is lost at the back of conscious among all else clamoring at busy ears, eyes taking in the distorted features of his friend. Caught between horror and the need for motion, there is a tug at his wrist and then the sound of something heavy hitting the ground at his feet: his right hand still clasping the gun. Disconnected. A shadow and thin light move beneath his vision followed by a searing pain across his left calf. Falling to the ground on his good leg, the shadow appeared, he lunged with the torch, easily parried. He felt his hair grabbed, pulled sideways and a cold release along the side of his neck, a cold that quickly wove its way through his limbs, his heart slowing, trying to beat with less and less. It occurred to him to scream, to shout as his body hit the ground, the hard texture of the floor against his cheek. He watched his nemesis reach up and fasten the torch to the metal frame, wildly illuminating the confines of this place as it spun one way and then another. No bigger than a child! His hand was kicked beneath the bunk then a grey clad foot stepped onto the thin mattress and disappeared into the night. 11 beating hearts.

The cold wind quickly found her, roving through the folds of material and caressing skin, it felt good to be back in the open. Most of them were somewhere within the confines of the four rows, or on the far side. Instinct and the frantic light drawing them towards her. She ducked beyond the rear of the adjoining billet and with blade angled towards the ground moved along the back within shadow. There were two tracking in the parallel corridor, they hadn't seen her but she changed her trajectory to move increasingly away from the encampment, towards ten o'clock.

They came either side of the final structure as if water around rock, heading towards her, simply clearing through the empty spaces. They paused five paces apart and she fifteen more away, on one knee right arm extended with the blade at right angles across her form. One blink of unfocused eyes can take an eternity, humanity's instinct to preserve child life their folly. Her left hand spewed flame, two deafening roars in quick succession that stopped all conscious beings within its echo. Thrown back with crimson flowering from their chests, she turned and was sprinting in the opposite direction before the first hit the ground. 10 beating hearts. Out of sight she dropped to the floor, chambered another round, safety on, the weapon slid back into the holster. Rising the blade hissed back into its sheath, voices increasing, shouting. 9 beating hearts.

She ran as if her life depended on it, it did. Torches were starting to gravitate towards the prone soldiers, slicing through the night but nobody would see her unless they looked in a different direction. Each leg a piston one after another, arms pumping her body forward, lungs systematically oxygenating cells, the human body, every sinew and muscle operating at its very peak. She arced around through eleven and twelve, just outside the camps perimeter, half way. Random shouting interspersed by crackling gunfire cut through the early morning air, aimed in the general local of the pinpointed dark she had vacated some 150 paces earlier.

At 300 paces she stopped, dropped to one knee and gasped in air, now at two on the other side of the camp. Too late. Just behind and to her left the fist cut across the side of her head, knocked her sprawling to the ground, grabbed her by the loose material of her shirt and dragged her grasping further into the dark. He released his grip, rolled her face up and knelt astride her chest with an arm pinned beneath each leg. His large hand pushed down over her mouth, leaning close. Her eyes refocused taking in the large oval face and white teeth, the suffocating smell of his calloused palm. There was only one path available to her: she burst into tears.

There are few, even of the dark hearted variety that will not react to the abject dejection of a crying girl child, especially one this pretty. He smiled, shifted his weight from the hand covering her mouth; she bit down hard, her white teeth ploughing through skin and flesh until halted by bone. Cursing he pulled back and used the same to rebuke her insolence, leaning down closer, the grin now wider, his breath tumbling over her cheeks. Looking him straight back she sucked in as much air as her depleted lungs would allow and spat 5 leaves worth of herb directly into his face. They are bitter to the taste but the extract when mixed with saliva will cause excruciating pain to open wounds and membrane: such as that found in the eyes. He swayed backwards cursing once more. She wriggled her right arm free and used every ounce of strength mustered from that shoulder down through palm to pummel the nerves inside top of the thigh, just below the groin. There was just no angle to go for anything more vulnerable. Eight blows while he desperately wiped at his eyes, finally pushing himself away with his legs. She rolled to one side. The moon and steel collaborated to provide him with a blurred image as the juvenile descended.

Regulating her breathing, she refuelled oxygen while stroking the hair from his forehead. The last of life wheezed through his bloody lips, 8 beating hearts. Another herb passed into her mouth, they were bitter and did sting but truth be known, at times like this she quite liked the pain. She checked the wooden pin, the gun still holstered, the blade comforting at her side. Across her chest fingertips passed over the short knives, minds cadence back into the steady two beat. They were starting to fan out, working back through the camp. Time to dance.

She stepped around the corner, there were two walking one either side of the corridor. In that moment the second was just embarking on a stride six paces diagonally on the right. The first was two paces directly in front, wide eyed, lips forming around some exclamation, falling backwards. The rising barrel spewed molten lumps into the ground and air; now vacated. Rolling to her right she came up and extended her arm in one quick fluid motion. The small dagger, weighted heavy at both ends tumbled, a small insect passing through air, travelling from fingertip to thyroid before he even planted his foot onto the ground. Her left hand reached for the hilt, pulling the blade free, it arcing anticlockwise through a full circle above before chopping down diagonally from right to left: into the frantically turning flesh just above hip and below ribcage. Momentum pirouetted her small form while her legs folded downwards, his weapon firing into the unconcerned sky passed over her head. She stepped forward blade extending upwards. Seven beating hearts. Pulling the steel free she stepped over to the writhing figure, hands clutching at throat, eyes wild following her every step. Just a child. So small in those loose clothes, hair pulled back tight from her face, that slender neck, those large fierce eyes. Six beating hearts. She dragged the blade across the redundant zipped jacket, one side then the other, leaving behind a dark smear. His fear drifting from her mind. Eight more steps and she had two billowing tents stretching behind and to her front.

The next was waiting just beyond, crouched inside the frame, waiting for that tell tale foot fall, pistol raised, grasped between two hot hands. She reached down, pulled free her trainers and tossed them it into the mud just beyond the swaying flap. The ground around and between these manufactured objects jumped five times in quick succession, mud ascending in clouds before drifting away back to earth. Silence. The ground nearer ascended, leaving a wrench in fabric and another, closer still, a muted groan freed itself from somewhere just above her diaphragm, the dust settling on her still form. Silence. She heard the magazine ejected, three rapid paces and through the flap. The long blade dragged just above both knees cutting through material, flesh and sinew. He fell as a tower with its supporting structures blown away, his mouth wide in scream, gun and fresh magazine making their separate way at gravity's invitation. Steel breached his flesh from back through front, the slow hiss of unprepared air heralding five beating hearts.

She stepped from the tent, onto the hard mud, bright light from the far end traced along the corridor. Its journey paused just above her head, she a crouched form merely suggested at the foot of this light's pool. Adjusting the angle of his rifle, pulling hard on the trigger the pin recoiled from each explosion to detonate another, ten per second to empty. A total of 30 rounds tore through the air in slightly higher succession, peppering the ground, canvas and some lost above. Dust drifting, echoes escape into the horizon, milliseconds of silence and deaths toll. Two blows slammed into his chest, a kneeling smudge passing through his peripheral vision as the force lifted him clean off his feet and heavy back into the ground, the torch rolling careless over the hard floor.

Rising she looked sideways at the perforated tent and breathed out, too close. She always allowed for errant aim but this one must have been the cook. She pulled back on her trainers, the left sporting a ragged hole through tongue and sole. Checking chamber and holstering the weapon, she reached under her smock and pulled free one of the small daggers. This next part would be dangerous. Four beating hearts.

She eased into the dark gap between the first and second structure, grass had grown here, long and hopeful, free of the wind and blessed at least in part by sun's sweet caress. Step over careful step she made her way through until three paces from the edge she had a partial view back along the adjoining corridor.

This angled attack, her approach and path had been devised with this moons glow high and behind for this conclusion. It cast a vague shadow in the murky light that encompassed her huddled form, stretching out into the hard mudded corridor. She could only see the first two, their three beating hearts were slow and methodical. They approached, each one a point on a disjointed triangle sweeping towards a scream and an intruder's double tap signature.

Her mind raced, long lashes blink over wide calculating eyes. Scripts of alternatives presented and disappeared, strategies, the warm metal in her hand. They paced onwards, drew level. Her moment; the rise, the slow back flip a blink of the confused eye, a blur into their midst. Rising guns spew at thin air, mowing down at least one of each other as they track the dark arc that would issue a painful demise for all remaining, in practical turn. She heard their screams, felt their pain for each layer of flesh and muscle cleaved, tears of the bereaved fell upon her cheeks. Drained and suddenly cold she huddled with her back against canvas: tired for this and their pain in her mind. They swept by, her form a shadow within shadow. Unnoticed. Long grass folded one step at her right, her head through half turn met with a clenched fist travelling in the opposite direction. Rough hands hoisted her pliable form high and carried her back through the narrow gap.

She lay on her side, on the floor. Her eyes were blindfolded and hands bound tightly at her back. Judging from the ceaseless material all around she was in one of the structures. The resonance of this billowing and smells at this floor meant for her that this was used for communal eating. There were four beating hearts: a slower symphony. She knew the first was close from his breathing and constant fidgeting, probably a few paces over in the corner, sitting on a chair. The second and third beating hearts were just outside, with the fourth at least a corridor away, behind but on the move. From just past her feet static burst into the air, intermingled with high pitched tones and then silence. Slow furtive movement revealed that for some reason her feet were not bound. She reappraised that this was probably some sort of communications tent.

The fourth beating heart was now outside, paused briefly. She heard the fabric slide around his form and then fall back into place. The guy in the corner stood to a barked order, anger laced with stress defining the sound as it passed from vocal chords. Something light and metal was lifted and planted just in front of her body. Steps around her head. She was lifted to standing by the fabric of her top, from behind the binds were removed. She was marched in a small arc and pushed down onto a chair. She felt him take a step back as the fourth stepped forward, pulled the cloth from her eyes, his flat hand as if wood struck her hard across the left cheek. The momentum had not contained all he had. She ran her tongue over teeth but no blood, she had swallowed the herb at some time or it had been prised out of her mouth. She set about easing the light into dilated pupils and taking stock. The first was standing, attentive with his rifle held loose and pointing at the ground, just over to her right. The fourth looked very angry, which she considered was probably his right. Angry probably did not do it justice, it pulsed through him with every movement. He was short, probably a head or so higher than her and more than 20kilos past his prime. From his powerful shoulders hung a green military shirt loose over combats. He stepped forward again, this time she felt the back of the same hand across her other cheek. He stooped down in front of her, hands on knees, looking into the child eyes. Straightening his spine and shaking his head incredulously, he stumbled over words caught at the back of his throat. Turning back at her he roared with anger, almost a scream. Stepping back he paused staring at her for a single beat, trying to recover demeanor, deliberating. Coming to some conclusion he hit her again with the flat of his palm. This time he stepped into the blow, using the bulk of his shoulders. She was sent sprawling into the side of the tent, he was on her immediately, reaching down, pulling her into the air. His face bulged square and flushed, great white eyes around dark brown an infinite fury just inches from hers. He half pushed, half threw her back into the chair and then marched out of the tent, his two beat wild and dangerously out of control. Trying hard to collect her senses she brushed small hands across her hair: some act of vanity, a tear crept from her eye. Outside another short order, the sound of movement, back through the flap. He held a pistol at his right side. Long lashes hastily blink over wide calculating eyes.

There is a moment in every such situation when opportunity presents itself, usually more than once. These may not always be clear and often will not lead to a satisfactory conclusion, but they will present. Her opportunity was heralded from above by a low cry as a bird issuing a warning or just marking its position, fading into the distance. For a fraction of a heart's beat, the fourth and first were lost to a glimmer of memory: the cry of a bird that had marked the beginning of all that night. She shifted her weight onto the left leg. Outside: three beating hearts. Propelling herself standing, one long stride through heel, ball then calf she sprang into the air, screaming with the effort. She landed on him as his eyes swept back at the noise and blur. Her left hand locked into his thick hair, the right driving the wooden pin through his left iris. His would not be a sudden or quiet death but it was imminent. The staccato beat of random fire and a muffled scream outside. Two beating hearts. The first lifting his weapon to meet its target, felt the chill night air sweep inside but not through the loose flaps. With his index finger poised on the malleable metal her small form emerged to its path, rolling to one side. Some part of his subconscious tripped on this ill wind but he was locked into this moment. His clinical hand bolted gleaming metal, there was nowhere for her to go, there was no need. The bullet ejected spiralling, waved on by a burst of flame. It tore through fabric and high, climbing into the night sky. One beating heart.

Her guardian looked over at the fourth, wooden pin pointing unnaturally from the lifeless eye. Just their beating hearts. His concerned eyes looked her over while he eased the gun out of the warm hand, laying both body and weapon on the floor.

Adrenaline spent she climbed slowly to her feet, small and shivering, arms limp at her side. Her journey's path was etched into the small stained face, tears she had fought to restrain ran and mixed with the archaic pattern.

“I am sorry”, stood there now, she was devoid of everything but the child.

“I let you down”, sniffing back, she wiped an index finger across her upper lip, a small clean trail in its wake. He stepped over and lowering himself onto both knees levelled his eyes with hers: an infinite universe of turmoil.

“No you didn't!”

Tears ran free: “I can feel them you know. In my mind, their pain, all about them, it is too much”, He knew of course. She half stepped towards him. Uncertain. A protector's smile. He pulled and held her close: felt the sob rising through her narrow back. Tears dripped onto his shoulder, her body shuddered with each breath, something almost primal in her cry. Holding gently, he waited. His physical space had been safeties harbour for all her time.

“You cannot change who you are Jane, it is what you are.”

He placed his hands on each shoulder and stepped her back, a face of rivulets and muddy shores. In a few years she would be a women, loved no less by him but this child was so precious, a perfect echo of her mother. He licked the pad of each thumb and wiped blood from the edges of her mouth, pulling up the corners in some semblance of an involuntary grin. His aura was a balm for her burden. Struggling to control her lips, she sniffed in defiance and let sunset burst into the smile. His eyes smiled back: “If you did not feel this, cry for these ... “, he paused pushing matted hair back into some semblance of shape: “... then you could not be what you are! It is why you are.”, he rose through the balls of his feet to full height, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Now come, my little warrior”, he turned and stepped from the tent. Dawn was busy washing away night's sky, tones of orange, watered blues and hues of grey.

He heard her top pulled free to reveal her pale skin, the refastening of the belt across torso, the strapping first of holster and then her blade, checking chamber: its resonant slide. He heard the sound of the top slide back on.

Their land rover sat an hour beyond the larger waves of landscape, he started towards it. Silence. Through her minds eye he saw her retrieving the pin, cleaning it on the green shirt and pushing it back into her hair. He heard her move through the thick fabric, footsteps pacing quicker behind him, imagined her body travelling through air, arms and legs wide. She landed full on his back, linking her hands around his neck. Linking his at his front, clamping her legs to his body. He felt her warm breath increasingly infrequent as the camp shrunk behind them. Soon her head rocked gently, her precious wooden pin occasionally digging into his neck, he never minded.

He lowered her into the seat, strapped her in. Life for her would never be much different, it was her destiny. Over time though, with her transforming body, a burden of mind would shape her, a magnificent creature.