Gwalchmei

Gwalchmei stares into the flames of the pitifully small campfire he will allow himself this far from the borders of the relative safety of his Uncle's kingdom. It's a poor replacement for the Sun's warmth and every part of him that the light doesn't touch feels layered with ice, although anyone else present would realise that it's a particularly mild night for the time of year.

Nephew...

"How is it that before dawn it seems to take the might of nearly half our forces to haul you from your bed and yet by the end of a morning's training you could storm a citadel singlehanded?" His Uncle Kai's voice is hearty and the hand clapped forcibly on his shoulder is warm with exertion and pride. "Look at them all, exhausted, useless! Go on lad, eat." He sends him on his way with a shove, "You've earned it."

Nephew...

"They will come by night, the village is too defensible by day any fool can see that. We must hide our men amongst the houses and await their ambush under the cover of darkness. Rhys, Arwan, you will hold the fighting in the centre here. Gwalchmei, you will lead the rest of our forces here, to cover our flank." Kai is his commander now, not just his Uncle, and as leader of their armies cannot have his judgement questioned by anyone. Not even the nephew of the King himself, highly prized as his skills as a warrior may be. He will follow orders, he will cast aside the superstition of boyhood, he will not panic at the waning of his strength as the sun sets, he will trust in his training, he will...

You grow reckless, Nephew.

The fire has died to a dimming pile of embers and the cold and dark are growing too much for Gwalchmei to bear. He stands slowly to fetch more wood. It's going to be a very long night.