A battle close at hand.

Sliding his sword free of its sheath he squared the blade vertically before his eyes, looking it up and down he inspected it's temper, hilt, and pommel. “A fine blade indeed, the quartermaster did not exaggerate it's qualities..” The blade flashed as he turned it to the side and looked up and down its edge. “Sharp as the world is large.” He slashed it through the air and it whistled. Seeming to slice the very wind as it tousled his messy black hair. He put its tip at his sheath and slid the blade home. Looking out across the valley, his mind drifting from place to place as he thought of home and his wife. A horn blew nearby, then another, and another. “Hmm?..” He slowly turned and walked to the other side of his high hill. One hundred yards or so away, a host of figures marched across the land. Their boots pounding the dusty road. His hand lovingly found the hilt of his sword once again.