Colin drew his cloak tight about his body as he stepped out of Warren's empty tent into the cold night air, eyes wandering in search of his commander and friend. The warrior stood at the edge of the camp, facing the great walled city of Gustrone. Though his back was turned, there was no mistaking his singular poise and armored frame. Colin didn't understand why the man wore armor now, though he almost always did. The weight of that iron plate must have been tiring, but Warren showed no sign of it.
Without turning, he acknowledged Colin's approach. "Can't sleep, even after battle? Is the joy of victory so invigorating?"
He shrugged. "Maybe I've learned not to need sleep, like you." Colin was sure Warren slept at some point, but he had never actually seen him doing it, and nor did hunger or thirst hamper him as much as other men. "Anyway, I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Oh? You're not going to stay and celebrate our victory with me? Now that we've defeated the dukes, the people will have no choice but to accept me as king."
"I'll be back. I'm just going to take Rhona home. You know the battlefield's no place for her."
Warren exhaled, a mist dancing from his lips. "I don't understand you, Colin. That little hellcat matches the best of us in killing every day, and now you say she can't fight?"
"I didn't mean that. The battle's over anyway. It's what's left over that Rhona doesn't need. Her nose has the sensitivity of a bear's, and all this death and sickness does it no favors. As close as everything"—by which he meant morgue, infirmary, latrine trenches, and similar malefactors—"is, my own nose is screaming at me. You know Gustrone might not surrender for a while yet, and we'll be camped out here until then."
The suspicious look Warren gave Colin did not surprise him. Though he was not small, Warren had to look up; Colin was taller and much heavier. "And why, exactly, would she need you to escort her?"
"She is wounded. And the clean mountain air will help that shoulder of hers heal up, too." A few months back, his sister had nearly lost her arm to a nasty sword wound, and still had not recovered completely.
"Wounded my foot. Come on, Colin—she killed at least thirty men yesterday. You just want to go back to the mountains to visit that wife and son of yours, and Rhona's nothing but an excuse for you to leave me."
It wasn't surprising that Warren had seen right through him, either. Colin nodded slightly, though the commander wasn't even looking at him. "You got me. Is it so wrong? I miss them."
"I won't stop you from going. You could've just told it to me straight, though."
"Rhona does want to leave."
"Damn Wild Axe. Good for a fight, not so much for the aftermath."
Colin smiled. "Would you want my sister at parlay?"
"No. Take care."
Colin returned to his small hide tent and lay down next to the snoring form of his half-sister. He fell asleep easily now, for his worry had been that Warren would take his decision to leave worse than he had. He felt glad Warren wasn't mad; he was not always this understanding, unlike most of his friends.
#
The next morning, Colin was awakened by Rhona's hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his slumber. "So we're going, right?" she asked impatiently. "Get up and get dressed."
"What time is it?" Peeking outside, Colin saw that the sky was still gray, the sun's rays only beginning to push away the darkness. "Do we have to go this early? I do want to say goodbye to my friends."
