“Do you even think your knees are still up to sneaking?” White-Eye’s wince was poorly masked by a smile that looked twice as uncomfortable at asking the question. Jorwen just looked at him, his knees weren’t a problem a few hours ago, but he was getting old, that was for sure. One pop, or something worse, and they could be spotted, scalped, strung up, skinned, eaten and whatever the hell else the Reachmen did to people who had the unfortunate luck to be in the general vicinity.

“Reckon we’ll find out.” White-Eye kept that wince on his face but it was a telling thing that the smile had dropped off. The old boy shook his head, no doubt having the same thoughts about age and mishaps he was. Damn it, someone had to be encouraging. That someone wasn’t the one who bumped shoulders with him. Bumped shoulders was a generous way of putting it, really. There are few people who could budge Jorwen and Duhmuvud was not one. It’s a widely held gesture that it’s the thought that counts though. Jorwen was too tired to fight anyone who wasn’t trying to stick him with a blade, so he let it pass, albeit with a mumbled, “’Least I stayed on one fucking side in the war.”

A younger Jorwen perhaps would have turned around and smashed his head into itself with his big hands, but youth and its machismo had left him a long while ago. Mumbling was about all he was willing to do, especially because he liked this shirt and getting any more blood on it would be a terrible chore to get out. And Ashav wouldn’t be too happy. “Surprised you let that pass. When I knew you, you would’ve stuck a knife in his head and that big fuck-off sword up his arse.”

“When you saw me last we were young gloryhounds cutting down Reachmen for the sport of it.” Jorwen frowned, not ever wanting to relive those days.

“Strange thing that we’re cutting down Reachmen for pay now. What do you think Aelfgar would think?” White-Eye asked, looking at his nails before chewing on one.

“Probably ask why in all the Princes’ Hells I haven’t retired yet.” They walked past a few lads going at each other with their weapons, getting one last lick of practice in before having to use the things for real. He shook his head, hardly believed he was like them once, hardly believed he was a tailor before that. Life takes you down some strange paths though.

“I’ll leave you to ponder that one by yourself for now. See you on the other side, eh?” White-Eye slapped him on the back and he nodded. He hoped they saw each other on the other side. Alive, preferably. Out of nowhere, Cleftjaw fell in step with him. He had to double-take and flinch before realizing who it was.

“Nice night for it.” Cleftjaw said. “At least that’s what Thrice-Pierced told me. Wonder why I even hang around you lot.”

“My winning charm?” Jorwen smiled, “Make sure White-Eye and Thrice-Pierced make it out alive. And you, young’n.” Jorwen said.

“Aye, I will. Been doing it since the first patrol I had with you three.” He smiled and slapped Jorwen on the shoulder, “I’ll see you on the other side, Chief.”

“Good luck.” He nodded to the younger lad.

“Won’t need it.” He winked back before disappearing into a crowd in that eerie way he had a knack for. How a man could do that so easily was beyond him. He shook his head as he finished his trek back to his tent and found Keegan sitting at one of the fires. A welcome face, if not one he knew for very long. Or at all, beyond a few glimpses around camp.

“Care if an old soldier sets himself down here?” He asked, with as friendly a smile he could put on.