War on the Wind - (Closed)

"What happened?" asked Christian as Robert and the remainder of his squad finally joined the rest. "Where are Anthony and Simon?" He looked at everyone quizzically. About to say something, Robert noted that he stopped himself. He guessed that he'd noticed the swords.

"Robert?" The concerned voice of William beckoned an answer.

"Dead..." replied Robert. "We faced a Venator..." Robert paused momentarily as some released gasps of surprise. "Anthony dealt the decisive blow that would bring us survival, but he himself did not benefit. Simon fell at the start, unable to even show the skill I knew he possessed as the beast killed him before he could react." A long sigh left him as he allowed the words to register with them. "Izaac's got a bit of a limp, but it'll get better with rest... Though there is unlikely to be much of that until we reach the fort."

Despite his words, for the rest of the afternoon, they rested. William had chosen a cluster of trees to be the meeting place, and that now served as a good resting spot. Despite the confrontation, the loss of two men, and the limping stride of Izaac, they'd made it in good time. Now they restored their energy with bread and water from the pouches each carried on the side of their thigh. Using the swift throwing of his daggers, Christian had caught two rabbits. Joel now worked on skinning and drying the meat, the younger of the two brothers always opting to bring such items to make the process possible.

"Your men are quite skilled, Captain Robert," observed Gregory as he came to sit by Robert's side. "Not only with a sword, if what you've said is true, but with hunting as well."

Robert flashed him a warning at the remark that labelled him as a possible liar, whether intended or not. "For what reason would I have to lie of two of my close friends and companion's deaths, Captain?" he growled in response. It wasn't the fact he was viewed as a possible liar, but the fact it brought shame upon the honourable deaths of his two fallen comrades.

Gregory choked on the water he'd been in the process of swallowing. "Forgive me, Robert," he spluttered, dropping the rank, his light complexion reddening. "I fear my words came out wrong. I meant no offence, and have no doubt your words ring true. I merely meant that I did not personally see it, or how they performed in battle."

"Each of them performed their part well. But if it was not for Anthony, we would unlikely be sitting here talking."

"Indeed." The man seemed to think for a while, his gaze resting on something in the distance. "I have heard many a rumour about Falcon. The swords are passed down from the dead to the living, honouring those who wielded them before. I have heard of you leading your men into the din of battle with a level of courage and determination not easily matched. Yes, Captain Robert of Falcon." Gregory spoke as if telling the tale of a legend. As if the man he spoke to wasn't its basis. But then he turned to Robert, eyes locked with his. "I am glad I will get to fight, maybe die, alongside you if it comes to that."

"You honour me with such high words of praise, but I am simply a captain who would be nothing without my comrades." He paused a while, lost in thought, his face stern, yet his eyes betrayed his grief of losing two men. "I pray that no more shall fall on our trail to the fort," he sighed, his water skin half empty. It mattered little though, as he knew a river ran through the gorge. There he would get fresh water once his ran out.

"What is destined... shall be..." Gregory spoke softly. It was a reply to Robert's words, yet, it wasn't aimed to be a reply at the same time. "Please call me Gregory, by the way."



The assembled group of survivors slept under the canopy of a cluster of oak trees, the burly trees concealing them from any airborne night patrols. Some sat with backs propped up against trunks. Others lay flat on the grass, their heads on their arms or pouches, seeking what little comfort they could find. Robert was not amongst them. The ordeal of the day would weigh heavily on all present. Knowing that, he'd automatically chosen himself as one of the first three to keep guard tonight. He'd chosen the remaining two from amongst the volunteers, of which all members of Falcon had been. One was Rachel, and the other was a man ripe with muscles from Ariel's squad. They each watched over a sector of the temporary camp, occasionaly switching to refresh their view.

From time to time Robert would glance up at the stars, admiring the beauty they brought to the world of night. Moon stood Empress of the night sky, always just missing her husband and King, the Sun. It was only on the odd occasion that both ruled in the sky at the same time, when the Moon refused to leave the decreasing domain of the night and the increasing domain of the day. Even on these days, when the Sun sat high with a magnificent golden glow of royalty, the Moon radiated with equal vigour, displaying her tranquil beauty.

A thought nagged at him as he sat there under the Moon's gaze. He wondered if others would find the thought silly? That one of his deepest fears was if he would not know why so many lives had been sacrificed this day. His thoughts turned to General Peter, who he knew was unlike the others of his position. Where others hid behind their men letting them make the sacrifice, General Peter had stood beside his, encouraging them forwards in the din of battle not by voice alone, but by example. It was this that Robert respected of the man.

The images of the time he'd saved the General's life came to mind. That time he'd been promoted to captain, given the choice to lead any type of unit he wanted, be it sword, spear or bow. He'd accepted gratefully and simply asked to be able to wield a weapon of his own design. This had been granted. He'd first only called the unit Falcon when addressing the members themselves, but soon others referred to them under that very name.

Guilt clawed at him as he wondered if these things would be taken away now that he survived and the General hadn't. But why had he seemed so surprised and confused when the Volucris set upon us? thought Robert. If we'd marched there for battle, why was it only 200 of us against so many more of them? Why did the General sacrifice himself to let as much escape as possible? He'd seen the General and his veteran guards fight fiercely, taking many of the Volucris down as if their bodies had been possessed by savage beasts. The General had ordered Falcon specifically to go when Robert had stood fighting alongside him. It was a miracle that they'd managed to escape at all. Robert stood, wondering if he would indeed ever know the truth of the matter as he finally changed with the next trio of guards. He needed at least some sleep to keep his wits about him.