Our motley band sets up camp at the edge of a sparse forest just beneath a weather-polished boulder garden elevated upon a grassy hillock. We approached our secluded campsite under heavy arboreal cover, veering off the road almost two miles back. Despite his age, Gillan was able to spot and identify the boulder garden at this distance, identifying it as a possible holding point for captives. He also claimed that its shallow cave system would be sufficient to shelter an entire raiding party of sixteen.

It irritated Aduren that Gillan was of use. I have seen strong men clash pointlessly, each unwilling to have their ego bent by the superiority of another, but there is something more unusual about this relationship. Sure Aduren is a strong man, more like a slaver than I’d like to admit, but Gillan seems to glide right over the younger man’ bristling ego. Sure, Gillan is strong, but he holds a different type of strength. Softer. More elegant. One that could be construed as weakness.

I dismount as gracefully as I can, landing heavily upon one leg. I used to fear horses. Their size, smell, and unpredictable nature still trigger my suspicion, and I hate riding them. I am glad that when night falls and we breach the cave, I will not have a horse dictating my fate. More importantly, I will not have to face mounted attackers. I long since learned never to allow anyone any semblance of advantage over myself, but the world of cavalry and soldiering brings new challenges. I hate that the horse does not grant me the same advantage it grants other men. Soon, I will force myself to learn the art of horsemanship. It is yet another necessary way in which I must lessen my own helplessness.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Despite Aduren’s frequent encouragement, I share in the fear and uncertainty of those around me. It feels good to have succeeded in tracking the raiders, but now that we are once again about to confront the enemy, there is nothing left but fear. We followed these men here as though we could bring them to justice, but why should the fight result any differently than it did in the streets of Kitford? I will follow Aduren, or Coran, or whoever steps into the leader’s mantle tonight to the crest of the Hillock. But I know I am not alone in my hope that there is no one to be found. I hope that the raiders, the mayor, and the foreign diplomat are long gone, and that we are met only by the wind and the rain promised by the dark cloudbank to the West.