Dray watched as the two commanders exchanged greetings. Gilas was smiling and apparently thanking the other leader for showing up in time. His strength drained, he leaned against the wall. A great deal of hand clasping and shoulder slapping went on between the two commanders. The cavalryman congratulated their commander on his bravery, and on holding out so long. Their commander tried to play it off, but he was pleased by the compliments.

A hand falling upon his shoulder made Dray flinch away. “It’s just me lad. It’s Wilhye, your old friend.” Wilhye was a friend, of sorts.

Dray had always been younger than the other men. Most young men didn’t want to become miners. Dray didn’t either. But by necessity of having to support his mother, he became one anyway. The older men had generally taken him in and given him all the support they could.

Dray did his best to smile, but he could feel how weak and limp his smile was. He could tell by Wilhye’s bemusement that it wasn’t very good. “Go lay down, rest. Being terrified takes energy.” Dray stumbles along back to an available cot. Laying down, he slumped onto his side. His eyes closed, but he could only think of the terror they had gone through. The fear he had personally experienced. His mother was sitting at home. She thought he was fine, but when she heard about this, she’d assume the worst. He rolled over, only to see Wilhye watching over him. “Tell my mother I’m not dead,” he said. The older man nodded, “I will lad. You can be sure.” That assurance must have been what he needed, because he slumped back over and sleep came easy.

The sun was still shining when he woke. He felt wrung out, but also loose, like he had just had a great deal of exercise and then had a great sleep. There was nothing he could do, he still had to help set up the mine. He was alive, and hopefully his mother would know before she heard about this. She would still worry, but it would minimize her worry.

The horsemen were patrolling around the area while the infantry soldiers were back at work setting up the log walls again. This time the walls would be double thickness, taller, and there’d be one more wall.

Dray wandered over to the mine, and found the miners and the cavalry leader and their commander, Gilas, discussing what to do. Listening in, the general idea was to mine as quickly as possible.

Feeling lost, he wandered, looking for a place to be. He found his way over to the stones. There were bags full that had not been processed, so he set up the tables and resumed sorting.

Once more, he sorted and kept the best examples of the low range for himself by leaving them in the dirty water.

Humming to himself, he let his hands do the work. He was able to focus on the work for a while before he was interrupted.

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Wilhye stood behind him. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better. That was a terrible thing to go through.”

Dray nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t handle it.”

Wilhye’s smile had a bitter tinge to it. “No lad, don’t be sorry. You’re still young. You haven’t faced death as often as we have. No matter how much bracing you have, no tunnel is a hundred percent safe. So don’t worry, some day you’ll be the jaded old timer.” He patted Dray gently on the shoulder, gave him a thin smile and walked away.

Dray nodded, and got back to work. Back and forth, he sorted the gems and washed them clean, even removing the occasional piece of rock that was still stuck on some of the gems. Finally the day got dark and he stopped.

After putting away his selected pieces, he joined the others at the cookpot. It had the remains of yesterday’s stew and whatever the men had been able to forage today.

Dray warmed his belly with the food, and his soul with the company of his fellow miners. He’d always had trouble with the identity of a miner. He’d struggled with it. It wasn’t something he wanted, but he could get in relatively easily, thanks to nepotism. And he could feed himself and his mother. He had pushed down his internal rejection and worked. Day after day, he turned his back on his longing. His longing for more, for better. He refused to face it until now. So now, he had no idea what he did want. Only that he didn’t want to be a miner.

Maybe there was a way out. He had watched the soldiers, but he knew it was a tough job. Even tougher in some ways than being a miner. He certainly wouldn’t be able to see his mother every day. His chance of losing his life was likely higher. His goal was set. Something better. What though, Dray didn’t know. He’d experienced too little of the world. Maybe he had a secret talent?

That night as he lay on his cot, he tried to imagine himself, in different occupations. Looking at his hands, he imagined hammering metal, forming tools and weapons with his hands. However, the thought quickly passed. He was a bit old to start an apprenticeship, and he knew very little on his own.

Could he work with his hands? Could he make something? He examined his hands, turning them over and over. Nothing jumped out at him. They weren’t particularly elegant hands. Maybe not a musician, or a tailor. Could he make something out of wood? A carpenter? Or stone? A mason? Or perhaps carve. A sculptor?

Any time he considered something artistic he’d shy away from it. He didn’t think he had the talent. If he wasn’t in something artistic, what could he do?

Perhaps, he could find mines. They got a percentage of the mine once it was found. Whoever found this mine was getting a percentage. But it was dangerous, and if he died before reporting it, the discovery could be stolen by somebody else.

His constant thoughts had been yearning for something outside of what he had. And yet, everything he considered, he found a reason not to.

Before he knew it, it was morning. All he had for a resolution to his problems was an eight hour distance between him and his problems.