Yelling and confusion. Shots rang out, and swords sang as they came together. It was not yet dawn, with the sun bleeding out the day's first light onto the sky, and slowly rising.

Ben rolled out from his sleeping place, knocking over the food pots from the previous night. Entangled in the blanket, he ripped it off and tossed it onto the closest attacker, who turned out to be Pritchett. He did not take too kindly to getting a heavy blanket tossed in his face nor to breakfast spread out onto the rocks. The birds were appreciative, immediately descending on the food.

"What in the hells is wrong with you?", he asked, getting the blanket off and throwing it right back at Ben.

Ben stood there, confusion filling his face. "I thought I heard swords and shots from the rifles."

"Some lads were trying their hand at shooting us down some breakfast," Pritchett said. "There are no swords, except for inside your head. You probably heard my knife and fork as I was eating my breakfast."

Ben shook his head to clear the cobwebs. It probably was in his mind. Sometimes it did happen, old memories smells, and sounds would just pop up and then vanish, like a summer rain. It was nice to know that he had added gunshots to the repertoire since they were so common in this new world. Maybe it meant he was getting used to the place.

"Sorry about your breakfast," said Ben. Pritchett just frowned at him, disgust etched on his face. It was clear he and Ben were not going to be best friends.

Aetna bumped her shoulder into Ben, "He'll be alright. Just needs to shed a few pounds anyway." The morning air seemed to agree with her, her mood greatly improved.

"Why are you so happy?" asked Ben, now shivering a tad, as he had shed the blanket and wrapped the poor hurt dog in his old jacket.

Aetna was jubilant. "The scouts are not back."

Ben nodded, "I also like it when I hear that my friends are probably dead."

"Oh, funny, but they're not my friends. Bunch of assholes, if you ask me," she said.

"I like 'em," said Pritchett.

"Ah, right," said Ben, "they must be assholes then."

The landing party numbered around 50, with a squad of six counting the missing scouts. Ben had not taken a concrete number of the infantry and the sailors running the ship but felt like it would be around 300. Quite a serious number to be roaming around, kidnapping random fishermen, and hiding from the local populace. Although their enemies, if they had indeed killed the scouts, were not much better. Ben had a hard time finding sympathy for anybody who used dogs for battle.

Of course, the Empire had used its fair share of war hounds, but Ben purposefully kept himself apart from all of it. Sometimes too much empathy was a bad thing. He wondered if turning a blind eye made him worse or better. He decided it was worse. He wondered if he picked up Pritchett's breakfast knife and rushed the Admiral, how long would it take for him to be shot down. Picking up the cutlery, he lingered on the thought, seconds later finding the strength to push away the self-destructive thoughts.

Standing and shaking off the cold, he went for a walk along the rocky beach. Rivers don't make the best beaches for picnics or camping, he decided. Nor did they make great foundations for building palisades. The logs were packed with ground that had to be carted over from where the forest met the beach. Extra work that Ben was not happy about. Somewhere in all his not very long years of living, he had lost the appetite for hard labor.

"That's stupid." he said aloud, "Regular sandy beaches would make terrible foundations as well."

"At least now I know that you're not only talking crap at me," Ross had walked behind Ben, with the latter not noticing, so lost in his thoughts.

"Was that out loud?" asked Ben.

"Mm-hmm."

"What do you want, Captain? Admiral? Captain-Admiral?" asked Ben. Ross just shrugged.

"For someone so concerned with all that I'm hiding or whatnot, which I'm not hiding anything..." said Ben.

"Lies," said Ross.

"Let me continue. You sure have a lot of holes in your story as well. For one, I did not know that the only two ranks in the Navy are Admiral and Sergeant. I saw you even have a First Mate up on the ship, and a lot of your sailors are not even sailors, but regular infantry. I could do a better job of sailing and I know nothing about sailing."

"I'm a busy man. I don't have time to give out field promotions and I don't have the will when there aren't any reasons to give them," said Ross. "I am waiting to see how today shakes out."

"So I guess we're both hiding things then," said Ben.

The Admiral shrugged, dropping the pack he had slung over his back. Kneeling, he brought out a green and red jacket and held it out.

"Is that for me?" asked Ben.

"Of course."

"I don't really understand what's happening here."

"You're our newest recruit, is what's happening here," said Ross.

"I thought I was a spy," said Ben.

"No, I thought that," replied Ross.

"Oh. Did I dissuade you of that notion?" Ben asked.

"No, not really. But I am sending out some men to go after the scouts. Chances are they must be in some deep trouble and need rescuing. I need fresh bodies to throw at this problem. So, survive and earn my trust or die and I won't have to deal with you anymore."

"For God's sake," said Ben.

"Just one god? Maybe you are from a different world," said Ross.

"Why would I do this?" said Ben. "You took me prisoner and now you think I'll fight for you? That's asinine."

"You will if you want to keep clothed, warm, and be fed, or not fed, as it were, to the dogs."

"You don't have dogs."

"The enemy's dogs, smart-ass."

"I... " Ben wanted to continue arguing, but the Admiral's face dropped and all of a sudden the atmosphere turned tense. He pushed the jacket into Ben's hands and walked away.

"What the hell was that?" Ben asked, and was surprised to be answered by Aetna, who had been following him without Ben noticing.

"I think once he makes up his mind, he takes any disagreement as a personal slight."

"That's a quality you want in every leader," said Ben.

"His word is law anyway, it's not much of a difference."

"Yeah... Were you following me the whole time?"

"It is my job. I have to shoot you if you misbehave." She patted the pistol holstered in her belt.

Ben did not like the lack of armor on these other-worldly soldiers. They had swords after all. However, they were missing pikes, spears, war hammers, archers, crossbowmen, Pyros, Environmental Magicians. From what Ben gathered barely any of them had any magic ability at all, and if they had it, it sure was not used in warfare. Not that Ben was any help in that category anymore, not since his mind turned into wet winter slush.

"You think I can learn how to work one of those teeny cannons you guys have?" Ben asked.

Aetna bit her lip, thinking, "I don't think so. At least not yet. I will however have a talk with the sergeant so you don't go out there completely undefended."

"I'm not going to be a very good recruit if I go at the enemy only with nasty thoughts," said Ben.

"I'll get you at least a very sharp fork," said Aetna.

Ben was grateful for the jacket, it at least kept the cold at bay. If this world had seasons, then winter would be a terrible one to spend in these hills. Craggy and wet, the woods uninviting and more likely to house some hungry animals than any kind of helpful forest folk. Back at home, Ben knew how to survive off the land at least, trade with the Fey that still held dominion over most of the wild forests.

But here, not much was a choice. Ben felt like he was shipwrecked, destiny-wise, just carried around by a giant metaphorical river, his fate decided by things he neither saw nor understood. All he could do was hope that the river did not lead to a waterfall. And that was putting aside the things on his arms.

The wrapping had calmed down some, the color becoming more and more washed out. Perhaps the magic was leaking out of them. Ben rolled up his sleeves and set his forearms in the water. The river was cool and refreshing, but he could feel it much above his palms because of the wrappings.

Gold flakes dislodged from the wrappings and floated to the surface of the river, where they broke apart, before melting and floating down the river. Ben shook his hands, and clapped them together, trying to get rid of the water. But when his hands came together, a small spark burst into existence with a crack. A small flame appeared and floated on the wind, before burning itself into an embrace and going dark.

Ben immediately started clapping again and again, but the flames were determined to stay hidden.

"Well," Ben scratched the back of his head, "At least that's a start."