Before he had been posted out to this god forsaken land of endless dunes and voracious wildlife, he had never thought much of the charr. He had been conditioned by years of pro human propaganda all through his early life trying to scrape together a meagre earning to live by, and all through his military career.
But that all changed when he met the gruff, unshakeable warrior he had come to know as his friend. Oh, it hadn’t happened overnight, years of racial prejudice do not evaporate without time. It had taken many long months sharing a small space, and moments of terrifying carnage, but it had happened nonetheless.
Now he counted the brave veteran as one of his closest friends, and if he was completely honest with himself, one of his greatest role models.
The time came when they were called upon to defend their outpost from a particularly vicious assault from the mordrem, horrific creatures of nightmare. He remembered crouching in one of the trenches, awaiting the call to arms, when the charr reached over and clasped his arm.
“Take this,” he said, holding out a folded piece of paper, his voice a booming bass, stark against the high screeches of the beasts on the offensive. “Give it to my mate in case I don’t make it back.” The man shook his head, and told him to give it to her himself when this was all over, but the charr looked into his eyes with a quiet intensity. “Promise me you will do this. For our friendship, promise me.”
So he did.
After the battle, he found himself sitting on a chunk of rubble, turning over the note in his hands.
His friend had not returned.
He debated with himself whether or not to read what the charr had written, eventually deciding to have a look so he may have a better understanding of what to tell his family.
When he read what his friend had written, tears came unbidden to his eyes, and he sat there, quietly weeping.
There was only one line.
“Thanks for pitching in.”