Yet, hadn’t he done enough? He had killed, and he had survived, part of him argued. He served his duty as a soldier fully in that regard. And yet…another had died in his stead. By his figuring, he should be dead. If not for Martin, he would not be here. And so, he had failed.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, to no one in particular, as the tears stung his eyes again.
He staggered slightly up the slope, then collapsed to his knees before a deserted campfire. His stomach grumbled, but he had no energy to reach for the deserted stew left at the fireside. Its owner must have gone off to join friends. He twisted onto his back and clasped his hands behind his head, staring up at the stars.
Of three things he was certain: One, he had failed in his duty today. This guilt clawed at the inside of his chest, causing him to draw his knees up and wrap his arms around himself for a moment, unable to breathe. Then the sensation faded, and he relaxed, panting. Two, he was capable of more. He would not be here if he was not. Justine’s father was wrong; he was better than this. Three – he would have to prove this. Every chance he got. He must learn to fight, learn to use his sword, and be of some use to this army. He would have to contribute. And in order to do this, he needed help. He needed to reach out, to make an ally. Gavin was clearly out of the question, but surely, he could find someone else.
He stared out across the encamped army, and briefly contemplated joining the celebration. This was his chance to get to know some people. But he was so tired…it was just too much. Before he could move, his eyes fluttered shut, and he was dragged into a dark, haunted sleep.
20-Feb-2009 23:53:32