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The clatter of hooves was a blessedly welcome sound to Francisco's ears as he disembarked in Tomis. He had never been a great fan of sea travel and somehow, after six weeks of training, he did not feel at all prepared for what was to come. He knew his way around a carbine and a horse well enough but the sabre was something new. He would never forget Loannis, the half-mad training instructor, when he had first presented the heavy blade to Francisco. It was actually one of the few times that Francisco had not been screamed at by the man.
 
"Remember, Iberian, an axe can be used to cut wood and a musket to hunt animals. The sword is the one weapon that is made solely to kill man. Never forget that."
 
In that instant Francisco found himself take the step from being a civilian to be being a solider. Until that moment he had been scared, out of his depth in most things, but the basics had come easily enough to him with repetition. The sabre was a beautiful and deadly weapon and despite his physical physique he had found the weapon difficult to handle. Muscles that he had never known existed burned as he trained with the blade and he was still in danger of chopping his own horses ear off on most practice charges. He hardly felt ready to ride into battle. Even less so to kill a man. This was something he had never done.
 
Now, as he led his horse off the Frigate and into the streets of Tomis, Francisco felt the first flutter of fear. He was on an adventure, as he had always wanted, but the epic bustle of Nicomedia was gone, replaced with the very purposeful movement of troops. Even the townsfolk here were very different. They eyed the cavalry with expressions ranging from awe to fear and very few waved, a far cry from the jubilant throngs who had cheered them off to sea. He supposed that the war would be far more real for these people, they were much closer to the enemy after all.  
 
He swung into his saddle, nodding to the overly religious Theodoros. The man's piety was disturbing but he didn't bother Francisco much which was just fine with him. If a man wanted to bow and scrape to God, that was his choice. Francisco shifted in his saddle, hearing it creak beneath him as his horse, a big solid roan named [i]Nubarrón[/i], stomped his front hoof impatiently on the cobblestone. They had been on that ship for almost four days and the horses were not happy about it, secured as they had been in narrow wooden stalls below decks. 

Francisco double checked his gear where it hung from his saddle. The Officers had drilled home to him that a Dragoon, often far ahead of the main army, would carry almost everything with him on his horse. His metal helmet flashed in the sun, the cloth cover for it tucked into his saddle bags along with three days rations, some basic horse care products, some clean clothes, and, carefully packed, his guitar. He had seen curious glances from other Troopers when he first arrived but after a few nights of listening to him play they had all agreed it was worth having along, though he would not take it into battle. His bedroll, great coat, and forage net were all rolled up across the back of the saddle. On him he carried his carbine, holstered by his knee, sabre on his left hip, forty rounds of ammunition and cartridges on his belt, and a short handled bayonet. He hoped he would never be that close to another human being.

They had ridden up to the Citadel where they were to find their beds for the night, though Francisco could not sleep, and even if he had wanted to, he was to scared to sleep. Training in Nicomedia had been one thing but as evening fell and he stared over the landscape slowly turning black with night be could not help but begin to imagine every flickering light that appeared as an enemy fire. Normally he sought the company of the other soldiers, his songs and music welcome no matter where we went but not tonight. Tonight he sat on the high wall and stared into the distance where the Mountains glowed briefly with the final rays of sunlight before also falling into deep shadow. There was no moon that night.

For hours he sat, fingers twisting and un-twisting the horse hair plume of his helmet, the feel rough and tangible, a reminder that everything was real. When he got bored of the helmet plume he drew his long sabre and began to obsessively sharpen the blade with long strokes of a sharpening stone. The "shhhk shhhk shhhk" sound soon drew aa alert sentry to his side, an officer who sat beside him without an invite in the darkness. He could see nothing of the man but his cocked hat and heavy moustache. 

"Nervous?" The man asked and Francisco paused for a moment in his sharpening. He wanted to say no, to laugh or chuckle but he couldn't.

"Yes." He finally said. A simple word but it seemed to help a bit. The man next to him didn't chuckle or laugh. Instead he lit a cigar and in that momentary light Francisco saw the lined and weather beaten face of a veteran soldier.

"Then you might live. Any man who is fearless charges headlong into danger. He gets himself or his friends killed." The Officer said after a moment. His accented Latin was easy enough for Francisco to follow.

"I have not been in fight before." Francisco said at length. His own Latin was provincial at best but the Officer didn't seem to care. He blew on the tip of his cigar and it flared again. The tip of his nose was missing.

"We all start somewhere." Replied the Officer. Several more puffs on the cigar and the weathered face turned toward Francisco and he could see a weariness in the mans face, an exhaustion that he had not expected. "And some day, it will end for us somewhere. We hope in our bed with a good woman, but in all likely hood it will end with a Roman lance in the gut. Stay safe out there Trooper." He stood, tossed his cigar over the battlements and vanished into the darkness, leaving Francisco alone with his thoughts.

He was still sitting there some hours later when the sun touched the horizon again and the trumpet called him to reveille. He was achingly tired as he returned to the stables, something made all the more obvious by the eagerness of [i]Nubarrón[/i] who had clearly had a full nights rest. The two, man and horse, appeared on the parade ground last of all and managed to trot into formation in front of Cornet Koynk as he spared them a brief glare for their tardy arrival. 

Francisco listened keenly as their mission was laid out for them. It was a simple scouting mission. They had practiced several dozen during their training. Though this time, the enemy would not be shooting blanks at them. That made his gut go cold again and he could feel the knot tightening inside of him. He was terrified.