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Haytham is an anxious soul. This is a blessing in that he’s always prepared, but a curse in that he’s often overpreparing and rather fearful. Even several years into his training and service, you notice that he hesitates his strikes, fearful that he’s making the wrong choice before he’s even made any at all. He’s certainly improved, but he isn’t soldier material yet. You, too, fear for your life in combat. But you find it too distracting to internalize and manifest that fear. You’re not a low ranking soldier in the mud of the battlefield anymore, the fight for your life has far more meaning, and that’s what you tap into to augment your fear. He’ll learn, with time. For now, as you both ride through the dense forest, he on his white courser and you on your black-gold caparisoned destrier, Haytham’s head on a swivel will serve well to scan for any threats.
You carry a war lance over your shoulder, adorned near its point is a small flag with the silhouette of a Shrike, the symbol of your order. You also keep an arming sword strapped to the saddle, and a shield painted blue with your chosen crest: that of a white seahorse. As you rose to the rank of knight, you were afforded the heraldry of nobility, and you feel you chose well. Of course, you’ve never been one for owning land, always traveling between strongholds on business for your order. Perhaps you’ll settle down once Haytham earns his knighthood and you earn your name. Barth Abram. You haven’t said your name in quite some time. Unless referring to a direct son, Shrikes speak only in rank.
That is why it’s imperative that this quest goes off without any hitches. Haytham was worried, as usual, since they were only sending the pair of you out. But you understood why. This was either a major opportunity, or a trap. Keeping the travel number low would aid in avoiding any incidents, and keep information from leaking out to undesirable persons.
>Continued…
