The Battle for Wetbrook

Saurus took a mouthful of the cold morning air and felt the gooseflesh run up his arm. It was a bitter adjustment compared to the cozy interior of his tent and Saurus coughed when the chilly air hit his lungs. The smell of pine was heavy up here in the northern regions of Westland, a fragrance so thick it felt to Saurus he might as well be swimming through the forest during a march. The trees that surrounded his camp stood like sentinels, unwavering, and ever watchful. The trees were old and magnificent in their height. Saurus wondered when the last time the forest had been trodden under the foot of soldiers and concluded it probably never had.

The Empire’s camp was quiet while most of the men slept. Tents were erected in columns amidst the clearing, and although not even one held its original clean white colour—most now yellowing from exposure, each tent displayed the Imperial sigil: A silver wolf on a field of red. The flag was customarily hung at the head of each tent. A tradition that stretched back to before Saurus was born and was believed to bring soldier’s good luck. Every now and again the flags stood to dance with the wind.

“Lord Commander.” Said two soldiers as Saurus passed their tent. The soldiers bowed stiffly; their red cloaks trimmed with silver. Saurus returned the bow respectfully and continued to make his way out of the camp. At each tent stood two soldiers, the required amount to guard the sleeping men inside. Each guard stood adorned in his accustom plate or mail, accompanied by his or her sword and spear. The soldier's large, rectangular shields were never far from their reach, and rightly so. It was just as, if not more important than anything else an Imperial soldier carried.

When Saurus reached the outer perimeters of the camp—receiving identical courtesies from all the soldiers he passed, he was shocked to notice a bear leaving the camp, undoubtedly heading towards the stream that resided north-east of the camp. Saurus quickened his pace causing his pauldron plate to grind softly against his mail gorget.

“Hadwin?” the Lord Commander called out.

A tall brawny man turned abruptly, his bearskin coat swirled as he turned, the snout of the bear pelt sat comfy on the man’s head and for a moment, it looked like both the bear and the man were looking at Saurus equally.

“Saur—Lord Commander?” Hadwin said. His bearded face revealed extraordinarily little of the mouth that spoke the words. “I—Forgive me my Lord, I did not see you.”

Saurus smiled while he caught some of his breath.

“The cold air steals a man’s breath much faster, does it not?” Hadwin concluded.

The bear was almost naked despite the cold, and Saurus was amazed by just how much of his own hair Hadwin grew. Not just atop his head which tangled down in long black locks, but all over. When Hadwin wore his bearskin pelt it was difficult to distinguish where the bear began and the man ended.

“You’re not wrong there Captain,” Saurus answered glancing at the bundle of cloth in Hadwin’s arms. “What could possibly awake a bear this early in the morning?”

“Oh…well,” Hadwin said in his deep booming voice, “I thought I’d head to the stream before we march. I have some equipment to clean and thirst to sate my lord.” Hadwin tucked the bundle of cloth tighter in his arms and inflated his chest. A course of black hair covered his torso from neck to groin.

“Very well Captain, I will not keep you from your duties,” Saurus said after a moment, knowing full well Hadwin could do all those things in camp. The bear was surely acting strangely but Saurus was not concerned it was anything but trivial.

Hadwin gave a respectful bow, deep enough to brush Saurus’ armour with the tip of his bear’s snout. On the way up Saurus picked up the scent of mint and noticed Hadwin chew slightly before he turned to leave.

Mint grass? Saurus realized.

Saurus watched the bear leave, his bulky stature disappearing amongst the trees and undergrowth. Saurus turned to take another look at his camp. The tall trees surrounded the large camp like a wall of wooden stakes.

Despite this land being within the borders of the Empire, Saurus had never felt more like a foreigner. Even when he had sailed east throughout the archipelago with Hadwin, all them many years ago, he never once felt as out of place like this. This land seemed connected somehow to the essence of centuries long past, and to Saurus, it felt strangely like stepping into the past, however impossible that was.

The pine trees cracked and groaned behind him and swayed in the wind. The surrounding sentinels had at least offered the camp a convenient windbreak. Saurus made his way further into the wood, gingerly stepping over the fallen debris and tree roots that barred his path. He touched each tree trunk as he passed with a bare hand, stroking the rough bark with callused hands. Until at last, he halted at the foot of an enormously thick tree twice as wide as he. He looked up and suddenly felt like a child looking up at a towering adult, in a lot of ways he was.

“Grant me your wisdom,” Saurus said kneeling and placing his palm on the tree. “And your protection, O wise one. Shepherd my people in your earthy embrace.”

The forest gave a series of creaks and groans, the wind whistled between the sentinels of bark and leaf. All the while Saurus knelt and prayed, never removing his bare hand from the tree as he felt it answer. Saurus felt the ground rumble slightly beneath his knees and heard the soil around him toil and shift. He did not open his eyes, nor did he break the connection with the great tree. Minutes passed this way, perhaps maybe even an hour, Saurus could not tell. Then the forest grew quiet.

When Saurus opened his eyes to peer down at his knees, they were coated in soft soil and dead leaves, as if someone had tried to bury him slightly while his eyes were closed. He also noticed the trees around him were in different places from where they once were, but each one now stood as idle as the next: silent, and still. Saurus could feel their presence upon him like invisible eyes and felt the same sense of loneliness when one is surrounded by strangers. These trees were watching him.

At Saurus’ feet, he saw a stem, brightly green against the dark soil, and knelt to pluck at it, a gift it seemed. Attached to the stem's tip he saw a single bean—tightly wrapped in its pod. Saurus gently closed his hand around the bean and looked up at the enormous tree. It seemed to look down at him, swallowing Saurus in its shadow. Saurus issued a bow exactly how his soldiers had bowed to him earlier, then made his way back to the camp where he found his son Alaric, awaiting him.