That little hunched man left Veran with a question - what if he was a murderer and he failed Ozren just like he did his brother?

The command to camp here was received with mixed reactions. Some men were happy to have a dry place to spend the night. The moisture and the constant spray of rain dampened their clothes, making them cold and heavy. But there are those that saw the place as a bad omen. Blood had been spilled here, and the scent of violence made them anxious.

Nightfall pushed them to seek warmth around the campfires. Those who weren’t on patrol laughed, joked, and slept. The first few nights, they even sang, but the closer they got to battle, the more the conversations turned to families and children. What a simple fire could do to a man’s morale.

“Veran.” - Ozren said to him - “You wanted to talk about something today.”

“Hm? Ah, yes. I wanted to talk to you about us going into battle at Rhana. Chances are we won’t be solving this conflict in a civilized manner.”

“We wouldn’t be marching a battalion through the woods if we expected otherwise, would we?”

“When it comes time to spill blood, my lord, I will ask you to stay behind and leave it to us.”

“I’m afraid this can’t happen. I can’t sit and watch from the side when I’m sending people to their deaths. If the czar is leading his cavalry, I can fight too.”

“The czar has heirs, and you don’t. A single stray arrow can put the keep and everyone who depends on it in disarray.”

“How will I look at the wounded afterward, knowing that all I’ve done is watch? I can’t be like my father.”

“When your men need you to fight, I will put you on the horse myself. This time you need to live and learn. You marching with us, camping with the men is more than most boyars have done in a lifetime.”

Veran meant every word he said to the boy. It was the second time he’d had this conversation with a member of the Bozmaroff family. Once again, he saw that disappointed look when the idealism of youth met the harshness of life. Your life is worth more than theirs. The last time he couldn’t convince Ozren’s brother to sit back. He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.

His people couldn’t lose him. His soldiers couldn’t lose him. But most importantly - Veran couldn’t bear losing him. He patted Ozren on the shoulder and retired to his tent to rest before his first watch.

He always took the worst watch, the one in the middle of the night. If you’re first, you just go to bed later. If you’re last, you wake up earlier. But if you’re in between, you must drag yourself from underneath the tent, out in the cold while everyone else is sleeping. And just as you’re deep asleep after that you need to wake up again and march.

Only the squishing sound of mud and the snoring of soldiers broke the silence as Veran patroled the village. There were a few men still gazing at the embers of the fires. Maybe they, too, had come to the cruel realization of their life’s worth.

The general thought about the people who used to live in the houses the soldiers now filled. They slept here and cooked dinner. A child made its first steps where three bearded men lay snoring violently. A woman had yawned after a long day at work where a soldier was taking a piss. It was silent at night and it would be silent after they left.