Dismissed

Several cloaked backs bent over a scarred tabletop. A large parchment map sprawling over it, adding its own fibrous hills and valleys to those depicted. "You're sure they went that way? Have you attained confirmation?" A head bobbed. "We have sightings from our forward scouts. The forests are crawling with the usual vermin but we have reason to believe they may have..." Fear touched the man's voice at the last few words and he stopped talking, steel gray eyes scathed his face, every man present glaring at him. It was so hot in this stuffy tent. All the captain wanted to do was to get on his horse and go home. Back to Tilden. Where the grass went on forever and the houses were as islands in a great sea. His body shuddered as he thought about it, how the grass would look as the great winds blew through them. He thought about how his wife's golden hair, waved just the same, as he rode off to do his time in the great service of...why was he here? Why fight on? With horrors like that in this world, what hope was there? The soft sound of metal sliding off leather drew the captains attention back from far off crisp laughter and honeyed tones. The lieutenants cloak fanned out behind him rather dramatically as he brought his recently unarmored leather clad hand hard across the captain's face. The blow sent him reeling and he fell back away from the table, only barely catching himself as he struck the earthen floor. "Honestly captain Meddle, we haven't the time for this." The captain knew at once why he had been struck and flushed with anger. The lieutenant had read the mood of his thoughts as easily as he might have the map. Chivelians are good at reading people. Unnaturally so. Hatred for this entire mission swelled up fierce and hot in the captain's mind, but he hammered it down into a hard blade of practicality and reason. Standing, he reached into the pack on his back and tossed a scroll onto the table, then saluted his superiors. One forearm down under his chest, fist closed, palm up. His other up over his chest, fist closed, palm down. An uncomfortable gesture, representing heart and body, if not mind in this instance, dedicated to the great service. The lieutenant, to Mendel's surprise, returned it. Tapping his forehead before mirroring the gesture. "We move again in a few hours, we're taking that cave one way or another. Begin preliminary scouting for our departure immediately. Dismissed."