An efficient soldier. That's what he had always been, he supposed; an honor badge he should have been wearing with pride, or at least something he should look back upon with anything but disdain, though the idea of such a thing was long gone. Where he might've initially offhandedly dismissed any comments about it, the astonished rumors of new faces or the playful comments of his own team, he not usually rolled his eyes at it with a dulled sting, more burdened by the stress than he was uplifted by the reputation.

He didn't know why, but this mission had been one of the worser ones. Nobody lost, and he suppose he'd have to repent some way or another for a blessing he didn't ask for, though it didn't ease the wound of the casualties. Too many men wounded for false intel, too many good soldiers wasted on a dud.

For God's sake, what was he doing, thinking about the lives of the people he was meant to handle like they were rations? Ticking them off like spoiled resources rather than beings with lives, souls?

He hadn't even bothered to care for himself half as much as he should, admittedly. Too many reports to do, too many higher-ups to disappoint over what he considered to be an unsuccessful mission. At the mere thought of it, his wings shuffled slowly at his back, his baser mind already voicelessly pleading for more than he was willing to give. Dinner could be a start, if he had the time, or simply stretching like he should be. He shouldn't even think about preening– too much to do, and too little time to do it.

Hunched over his desk, he hadn't even noticed the knock at the door. Or, better said, he'd been subconsciously ignoring it for the past minute, the claw of his thumb digging idly into his pen where he'd been writing off yet another file, some poor private's request for time off. It was only when you opened the door that he finally looked up, a rough noise rattling just within the back of his throat, though that small ember was drowned out as soon as he found your eyes. ". . . What is it?"