[centre][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/436941809848025090/529374172258762763/gwyn.png[/img]

[h1]Gwyn Therwyn[/h1][/centre]
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Amongst the Oceanics, Gwyn stuck out like a sore thumb. Even if his rosy cheeks and wheat-coloured hair didn't make him look more like a little boy playing at soldiers than an actual member of the Army, the ramrod in his spine surely marked him as a military brat. While everyone else was joking around, checking their weapons and talking about the folks back home, Gwyn stood stock still, his eyes firmly on the tracks as he waited for the train to arrive.

Despite Thomas' best efforts to loosen him up, Gwyn could feel his heart race. So many smiling faces around him. How many of them would still be here after the first battle? They were the reserves. Reinforcements. And yet, after the deadly push for Hill 58, they were already being drawn into the front. After the next push, who would be the ones being replaced? 

He wasn't scared for himself. But he was a sapper. It was his job to make sure the bad guys didn't cross No Man's Land. He was to build the trenches, lay the mines, dig the foxholes and set the sandbags. Anyone who died in the trenches was his fault. Anyone who died in a foxhole, his fault. If any of these men and women died anywhere except standing around in the middle of no man's land with a thumb up their arse, that was on him and him alone. The pressure weighed on him like stones in his pack.

To make matters worse, he felt almost obligated to take some kind of position of control. Out of all the people here, how many of them had been raised from birth to lead men into battle? Very few, he should wonder. And yet, he had to hold himself back. His was a unique position, simultaneously having the name of his dynasty to uphold and yet determined not to let anyone find out who he was for fear of recognition. He doubted that the rank-and-file took well to the children of officers, even if they were officers of a previous war. 

At least, officers he hoped were in a previous war.

No. He couldn't let himself get distracted with thoughts of his dad. Focus instead on this Captain Middleton; his exploits had gave him something of a reputation. He was celebrated at home as a man who could get results. He even heard some of the newer troops call him a hero. And yet, what Gwyn had heard only reminded him of his own father: A single minded man, a man who saw the men under him as nothing more than expendable cogs in a hungry war machine, a man who would stop at nothing to end the war in victory and damned be all under him. Gwyn did not understand. Perhaps "heroes" do not need to question their actions.

But he couldn't let his nerves infect everyone around him. Nothing crushed an army worse than lack of morale. So he managed a sickly smile, and tried to ignore the twitch in his leg.
"You best be worried about your own arse, boyo, or some jabbering Imp is gonna ram his bayonet up it." he shot back to the Oceanic. Did that come off as too aggressive? Oh, God, he couldn't go around making enemies in his own rank! Almost immediately, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he turned away fearfully. 

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