The night alarm had passed, leaving the tents breathing out their exhaustion until dawn. By the next day, Captain Raun assigned short guard shifts along the earthen wall behind the camp. Not because the place was dangerous, but because the eyes learn in darkness what they can never see in daylight.
Kaizlan stood his watch with Serin and Milo. The wind was cold, carrying the scent of damp earth and wet firewood. Milo crouched on one knee, studying old footprints in the mud. He spoke quietly:
— "These tracks are two days old… see the dry edges?"
Serin tilted her head slightly, her braided hair catching a faint line of light.
— "Your eye is sharp. But learn when to silence it—accuracy means nothing if it serves no purpose."
Milo fell silent, then offered her the grip of his bow with trembling fingers.
— "Here… the string has bent more than yesterday."
She examined it for a moment, pinched the cord with a steady thumb, and handed it back.
— "Now it's aligned. Don't leave it slack in the rain again."
It wasn't quite a smile, but it was the closest thing to acknowledgment. Milo sat down by the wall, pulled a small piece of wood from his pocket, and began carving with a short knife. Serin asked without turning her gaze fully toward him:
— "What are you carving?"
— "Something for a pocket… no one sees it, but it reminds the owner that another hand passed here once."
He added no more. She asked no further. Kaizlan watched the quiet exchange, learning more in silence than he could have put into words.
When their shift ended, Sergeant Halj passed by, lingering for a moment before saying:
— "A watch isn't just for fighting. It keeps fear from growing inside. Treat it the same way you tighten your boots."
They dispersed, but in Serin's pocket remained a small wooden charm she had not shown, along with a new feeling she had no name for.
⸻
That evening, Raun gathered them before a long tent and opened a crate of equipment. He drew out short knives, coils of sturdy rope, and palm-sized maps.
— "In three days, the detachment marches to Stone Pass. Tonight, I'll see who knows how to carry—and who knows how to cover. On the road, no one cares about your bravery if a cart breaks on a stone."
The trainees were divided into pairs: Kaizlan with Serin at the left flank, Toren with Milo in the center, and Eiron scouting twenty paces ahead. They marched in a wide circle around the camp with light packs, then drilled shifting formation at the sound of a single whistle.
Milo stumbled once, and Toren caught his arm before he fell.
— "I don't feel like explaining to the sergeant why you disappeared into a hole bigger than your eyes."
Milo answered as he regained his place:
— "The hole isn't always in the ground."
Serin heard him but said nothing. Her steps stayed firm, and she raised her hand briefly when she spotted a slanted log that could trip a cart. Kaizlan lifted his shield to test the wind, then gestured right.
Raun's voice came from behind:
— "An early signal saves a wagon. Good."
And the circle went on, until sweat and silence swallowed them whole.