The next morning, Kawalski walked with Liada, down by the river. His rifle was across his back, and he carried his helmet by the chin strap.
“Liada,” he said.
She looked up at him.
“Those men are foot soldiers.” He pointed toward a group of men working on a raft.
“Yes.”
“And those are horse soldiers.”
She watched the four men ride by. “Yes.”
“The horse men in the scarlet capes...” He tried to explain with his hands, as he’d seen Autumn do. He plucked a red flower from a bush and fluttered it over his shoulder.
She laughed. “Carthage sons of, um, big peoples.”
“Ah,” Kawalski said, “the aristocracy.” He slipped the flower into her hair, over her ear. “Okay, we have the foot soldiers.” He held his hand out flat, at about waist height. “Then the horse soldiers.” He raised his hand a b
