Most habits have not changed much, though differences in place and time would alter them in little ways. They keep me, I think, on balance, which should not be too surprising. Rituals are so large a part of what defines us.

I would not for the world give up one of my greatest pleasures in it- a solitary walk at the start or close of day upon some empty stretch of beach- but I think sometimes that it is even better for me to have it interrupted, as it was last evening. I had wandered out to the eastern end of Primverness, and was turning from the shore in preparation to trudge home for the night when the sound of engines filled the air above me. I ducked down- in these interesting times one never knows who might be interested in putting a bullet in you- and waited until they passed.

As the machines, one winged and one a propeller-driven balloon, made a slow turn about, I was to my great relief able to just make out the face of Miss V. Tombola. And from the other, as they stalled to peer down at me for a moment, called out the voice of Colonel O'Toole, cheerfully wishing me a good day. I shouted back, but I believe the machines' sounds drowned me out.

After a little while, they landed and I headed down from the peak from which I had been watching. Others, with whom I am less familiar, joined them, and it was explained that they would be practicing flight formations in preparation for some possible battle with the Neualtenburgers...

...a battle which perhaps might not have been strictly necessary had it not been for the Colonel's (in)famous abduction of their Kaiserin. Of course, I have only my interpretation of the story, and since I speak to practically no one, it's a very ignorant one.

Only... I have thought that in the Colonel's case that it's an enormous shame; he being, without a doubt, an intelligent man. An appealing one, even. If only it were not, as it seems, nearly always the case that those gentlemen who do possess a bit of fire in their blood must, perhaps in response to the restraints of the society they inhabit, display it in ways that are not always in keeping with the law or custom of the land. And if only I were not habitually falling in love with them.

It is impossible not to think of these things, especially when the average gentleman here, it seems, not only does not mind standing idle while there are ladies not dancing, but will even refuse a very strong hint or blatant invitation to dance with you. It makes the men of my past acquaintance seem positively brutal... not altogether incorrect, but on the whole, I enjoyed it.

It would be stupid, from what I have heard, to think of Colonel O'Toole- or practically any other man in Caledon- in this way, so enough. Hearts can be very boring things, if one can study them objectively enough to observe the repetitive patterns. And offering mine to someone at the moment would be like handing them a bag of broken glass. Utterly useless and undeniably unkind.

To call an exhibition of military strength a diversion is somewhat distasteful, so I won't, but I was in fact diverted from such thoughts by the appearance of the militia. Watching these marvelous machines, soaring high as gracefully as any birds, it was all too easy to forget that they are exalted weapons and that there is a very real possibility that the beauty that delighted me today may bring sorrow and pain to another tomorrow. The way of all things, and yet it has been some time since I admired something that promised to bring harm to someone else. I stayed the night to watch them, meditating upon this.