It is better to die than be a coward!
The words of his commanding officer and sire ran through Jayant's mind as he practised, a combination of armed and unarmed manoeuvres that were like second nature to the Mekhet. He knew that since arriving in Sacramento he had been neglecting his training, especially since the Lost Nights. Since returning from the Spirit World, Jayant had made a promise to himself never to lose focus again and had gone on a personal voyage to recalibrate his mind back on track.
You are naught but a servant of the Mother!
A strict regime that he performed upon stirring each night, beginning with light meditation to focus the mind and quell the Naga, followed with an hours worth of physical training related to his role as the Mother's protector. It was his chance to improve himself in slight, almost intangible ways, enough for him to notice at any rate. Enough to know that he could act swiftly and without hesitation when the moment came.
You are a weapon, nothing more, nothing less!
His spartan room within the Crone temple on the large tract of farmland had but a few meagre possessions. Jayant still had the small stipend from his sire when he first arrived and had had no need to purchase anything as of yet. Maybe he could do with another phone, his last one lost in the sewer battling Bethem. At least he could be contacted if necessary. Foraging through his small military pack, Jayant removed some bills, enough to cover a basic model that allowed him to communicate effectively. As he removed the money, a small picture slid from the bag and onto the floor. Picking it up, Jayant had all but forgotten about that day, 20 years ago now, when he first graduated into the British Gurkha Rifle Brigade. Staring at the picture for a full five minutes, Jayant eventually placed it back in his pack and left the temple, the memory of the past gone in those fleeting moments.
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