Darkness is what greats me as my consensuses slowly returns. My eyes reluctant to open and grace me with the view of a new day.

I can't come to blame them honestly, the memory of yesterday still clogging my mind like mud in a carriage wheel.

War, a mere skirmish in the grand schemes of kings and emperors maybe but men still die in skirmishes that's all that matters in the end. To me at least. Dying though wasn't on my agenda and I hope not father either.

My eyes seeming to finally grow bored of keeping themselves needlessly shut slowly open to meet the warm light of hearth that encompasses the house.

As the world graces itself upon my eyes my other senses seemed to race to catch up, the sound of wood hitting wood and the smell of porridge drift their way to me.

A muffled groan escapes my mouth, as I slowly lifted myself up and off my straw tick. A fleeting Glare at the uncomfortable thing for its transgressions against my spine.

Stretching my arms out with a satisfying crack. I make my way towards the old hardwood table near to the, seemingly open, door to my daily portion of cereals in the form of a brown bowl of oatmeal.

I have come over my short life come to resent cereal grains stuffing the almost tasteless brown mush into my mouth multiple times a day isn't what I would call a pleasant experience though I suppose it isn't supposed to be.

The bowl, however, didn't last long under the onslaught of my spoon as loath I do, I'm also of the belief that you should get things you don't want to do but must over with quickly rather than to dwell. So, into my mouth, it goes.

Throwing my spoon into the now empty bowl of slop, I made my way towards the door to join father who was undoubtedly training with that glorified stick that he pawns off as a 'training sword'.

Still in my nightclothes, a thin cotton shirt and pants, I open the door and meet the warm glow of the sun and the light morning breeze.

My eyes quickly move to the form of father striking the improvised pell, a thick wooden beam planted firmly into the earth.

I move towards him a large yawn forcing my hand to my face and my eyes to water.

As I drift closer my body still weary from sleeping on the demon that is the straw bead. Father still doesn't take notice of me or just purposefully ignores me as I stand and observe his practice.

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I notice the sweat soaking his cotton clothing forcing it to meld to him like a second skin and making his already greasy hair look like he'd taken a plunge in the river. How long has he been at it?

Though that smell permeating from him quickly expunges that idea displaying to the world that he still hasn't washed in over a week. At least.

I stood there for only a few more brief moments before father finally took notice of me or at least felt it was time to stop. with the 'training sword' still touching the pell after his last strike father held his form and gasped at the air catching his breath before moving to use the 'sword' as a temporary cane.

"yer finally up boy," he said in a grasping tone "we got a busy few months ahead of us ya know, so I thought I’d let you get some final beauty sleep gods knows ya need it" he chuckled out undoubtedly not realizing that just inadvertently insulted himself. Though I do wonder what he meant by final.

"now it’s yer lucky day boy, ya don't have a wrestling session with yer dear old pa" his stated resting his sword on his shoulder and changing to a more relaxed posture "you'll need yer wits about ya, after all, long day ya know" he drawled out with a smirk. Of course, I know you old bastard I thought a frown marring my face.

The old man just chuckled "Ima gonna go get ready boy, do yerself some favours and get some exercise in". I didn't like the sound of that laugh, I thought as I stared at his retreating breath, but I wasn't one to dwell.

The next fifteen or so minutes were filled with the thing that I hate the most in the world physical exercise, truly the bane of my short existence.

It was only a light warm-up certainly, but it still caused a frown to mar face.

I'm not too fond of sweating one of the many reasons to dislike exercise, and under this sun any kind of exertion is going to make you sweat like a pig in heat. I much preferred the puzzles that old Marwin gives or gave me. They only made me sweat sometimes.

Father was quick to return clad in a red padded gambeson his scruffy beard trimmed to an even length and his usual unkempt hair straightened and tucked behind his ears.

I stared at him panting slightly as he marched his way toward me a brownish sack grasped tightly in his hand.

My breath was forced out as father threw the sack straight at me "what was that for you old bas.." I snapped out forgetting myself for a second stopping myself at the last moment "Get dressed boy and make it quick, yer a soldier now boy and ima gonna treat ya as one" I stared at him no doubt looking like a gaping fish " BOY, get fooking dressed before I beat you soory little ass"

I was quick to get changed after being threatened with violence though I didn't enjoy the light breeze on my naked body as I did it.

Father stood there like a rock unmoving.

As I stood there finally dressed in a red shirt and green trousers. I stood attention at fathers unimpressed gaze.

I watched as father put his fingers blew a whistle, I didn't move to look but hearing the distinctive trotting of a horse I assume his prepared Basket when he woke up.

"here's what yer gonna do boy" father said as swung himself onto basket "yer gonna keep up" I stared at him in confusion my head tilting.

I blankly watched a couple of seconds as my father slowly trotted away. my brain seems not following this turn of events.

Before my reverie was broken by fathers’ harsh voice "speed up boy, deserters get killed ya know"

And that was all it took for me to sprint after him.

Today was going to be worse than yesterday.

This better not become a trend