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[color=Silver]	The third hour. It was finally there. It came quietly, suddenly and without any build up. They were jogging, their breaths wild with fatigue, asphyxiated by the roughness of their unruly journey. And in an instant, the whistle went off. Shouts from the treetops and branches high above them indicated that their time was up. They were [i]free[/i] to go back to the dorms, as far as they were aware. At first, Grant didn't really know if they were telling the truth or trying to bait them out. When he saw Roger turn and stop, however, without receiving heavy backlash, he was granted the ease of the truth. They were to stop. They had somehow completed all three hours of their intense exercise. At first, Grant just kept walking, refusing to stop. If he'd stop moving, he wouldn't be able to get back up for a good twenty minutes or so. It was a small feature he learnt from his childhood nomadic expeditions. Stopping is vulnerability. Grant presumed that in the military sense, the logic was still just as applicable. He wouldn't stop, not until he got back to the dormitories. The last thing Grant wanted was to be flat cold on the ground for hours on end. Not only would it look weird to those unaware of what he'd just done, but it would also paint a bad light of him to the training instructors. They were the last people to piss off, at the end of the day.

	In the ten minutes it took to head back, he separated himself from the rest of the joggers, turning and giving a nod back to Gabriel. Out of the entire group, he'd spoken mostly to the taller lad, though in short intervals and bursts. There wasn't much he could focus his mind on, at least throughout the march. Facing them all one last time for the day, as far as he knew, he gave them a thumbs up of encouragement, hoping that they weren't all tired out like he was.[/color]

[color=08A2C4][b]"Good job, guys!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]In that moment, he tried to take a step forward as a word of encouragement, unsure of it really was part of his [i]persona[/i]. The greatest part about moving to a new place, one where no one truly knew who you were, was that you could reinvent yourself, mould your life to a way that suited yourself and the people around you. That was how people like Grant matured, grew and sometimes fit in. Unfortunately, he'd never done such a thing in practice. He was always [i]Grant[/i], a somewhat behind-the-scenes individual who never had seen the light of someone else's spotlight.[/color] [color=08A2C4][b]I'll...see you guys around. Grant, by the way."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	And with that, he stumbled ahead of the group, out toward the Training Ground centre, where most of the dormitories were laid out in rugged shacks. He hadn't laid down on the beds yet, but now more than ever he wished he could. A string of pain dragged itself through his veins. Lactic acids burnt his muscles, his legs in particular. Never before had he wanted to shout so much. It's consistent pacing was greater than walking, one that overshadowed his usual childhood expeditions. Grant quietly whispered praise to Mateo and his mother, knowing that without those nomadic experiences he'd never had gotten past the first hour. In his stagger, he could almost feel the sheets of the bedding against his skin, a phantom sensation whispering to him. It called him, by name too. A caress on the cheeks, the face and body, a silky touch left to the eye of the beholder. Though privileged cadets would've complained about its discomfort, those like Grant were happy to even have the bed secured. It was his. And he was going to mak-

	Grant tumbled onto the ground, more or less on the centred edge of the dormitory's perimeter. A wooden pole, likely of old fencing, laid planted into the dusty ground. Where Grant had collapsed, the pole was beside him. He groaned, coughing and spitting out an additional dose of saliva onto the floor far away. His throat was tight, constrained by the efforts of another cadet's punishment. Was he mad? Perhaps. In that moment, however, he focused only on resting. With the last ounce of strength he had left to give, he moved closer to the pole and breathed heavily, resting his back against the wooden support. Now sat upright, he was left there to his own solitude, his own loneliness, once again to fall into the shadows of everyone else's stories, or so he felt. There was nothing for him. He'd spoken to Gabriel, but in his disembarkation he shut off the chance to continue the conversation. Perhaps another day, or the following hours, he could reinstate his mind. He thought about what they were talking about. Cute cadets, which was something he hadn't really looked into before. Perhaps it was something he could jokingly look toward, but expect very little out of. He was ultimately here for an upcoming war he wasn't aware of. In turn, he wanted to make comrades, friends for life that would stick by him in dire hours. But for now, he was alone on the ground, and still unaware about the lurking cadet nearby.[/color]

[centre][sub][@LordVoldemort][@KenjuGuy][@MsMorningstar][@Inkarnate][/sub][/centre]