The first thing he noticed were the eyes, which wasn't strange, since he had always noticed people's eyes easier than there other features. It was something he was good at, like a talent, a gift, from the gods. Seeing one's eyes was always helpful, and he had the ability to distinguish many things from them. He could tell if someone was happy or sad, if they were angry or annoyed, even if they were stressed or worried. If the eyes were young on an old face, that meant he was faced with a very youthful elder. If they were old, tired eyes on a young face, then the person was probably leading a very stressful, hard life. If they were warm and friendly, then the person was easy going. If they were cold and hard, then they were mistrusting and unhappy. He could also tell the age of a person if he was lucky. And since the eyes were the window to the soul, he could also sometimes detect their personality. But these eyes were different.

They were a light, almost fiery blue, with the pupil a dark island in their centers. They were fierce, and guarded, and very weary. There were many different emotions in those eyes- anger, rage, confusion, irritation, defiance, hate. There were also a few minor emotions- fear, anxiety, timidness. But these emotions were heavily guarded, and very hard to detect beneath the veil of pure hatred and rage that seemed to bombard the general's eyes as he stared into the blaring blue flames.

"Sir," One of the legionaries said, taking a step forwards and saluting. "We have apprehended the enemy's leader."

"That I can see," The general replied, crossing his arms. Though he was not looking at the soldier, his eyes were staring into those of the prisoner. "And how did you come by him?"

"During their last raid, sir," Explained the legionary, in the cool clipped voice of a man giving report. "He was leading the charge, and fell to out cavalry. A good struggle, he put up, and we remembered your orders of capturing alive."

"Indeed," Said the general, trying to ignore the eyes that were staring at him like two icy blades attempting to pierce his soul. "Any others?"

"No, sir. The other cowboys escaped."

With a soundless sigh, the general nodded, and stood before the prisoner. He was a tall, fair man, with yellow-gold hair that hung slightly tangled and ragged a little ways past his chin. He wore a red cloth around his neck, slightly tucked into the folds of his collared blue shirt, which was adorned by a brown leather vest. He wore pale brown pants, and around his waist was a black leather holster and belt, which held no weapon as it had been taken from him before he had entered the room. He also wore black boots on his feet, and his his hat was a light brown, and was cocked backwards in a defiant manner. Definitely the leader. The general spoke.

"Why were you invading our west wall?" He asked, his arms still crossed. "What victory had you to take there?"

"A jail break," The cowboy replied, his voice was icy cold, like his eyes.

"I see. And what, do tell, did you plan to accomplish in this little prison break of yours?"

"Free some'a my men." Was the icy reply.

"And to do this you attack the strongest part of our defenses?" The general questioned, shaking his head. "Very foolish of you."

With a freezing defiance the cowboy lifted his head higher, and stared at his enemy. "We woulda made it, if it ain't fer yer stupid cavalry."

A chuckle from the general was the cowboy's reply. "You are not the only ones who are good with horses. Now, Cordius, Narcissus, take him to one of the empty prison cells. I am going down to the commanding room to speak with Centurion Marcus."

"Yes sir." Was the reply as the soldiers turned to lead the cowboy away.

As the man was led away, the general watched, and felt a little bad about the rough treatment his men were giving the prisoner. But he knew it was necessary, after all. War was not for the faint of heart. But as the man was led away through the door, he turned and cast a glance in his direction. And the general could read the hate in his eyes. But there was also a plea….the Roman general Octavius would never be able to escape those eyes and the guilt they thrust upon him.

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Later that evening, the general Octavius sat and watched the sunset through the window in his quarters, and felt the wind blow through the curtainless window. The glass covering which had been in place had been destroyed in one of the cowboy's frequent raids, and had yet to be replaced. The wolves howled in the distance as the moon rose, and the erie hoot of an owl echoed through the night air. He jumped at the sudden notes from the trumpets sounding the first watch of the evening, and watched in the dwindling light as the figures of armored men marched through and settled into their respected positions.

The war had been raging on for what seemed like years, though it was only a fifteen month period where there was actually armed conflict. It all started innocently enough; the Romans finding and exploring a new chunk of land they'd found when the natives had ambushed a small band of scouts while on a recon mission. Only one returned alive, though badly wounded. The soldier had recounted his experience, and in outrage the legions of Rome had declared war on the new found enemy. Though before it started, Octavius had arranged a meeting with the enemy's leader, and when trying to negotiate, was treated in a cold, inhospitable manner, and thoroughly insulted. With no other choice but to go to war with the strange people, the cowboys, they called themselves, Octavius and his men had built a mighty fortification, and were locked in almost constant combat in their will to protect themselves from the hostile defenders. But it was not easy.

The cowboys had much better weaponry, which made loud noises and could penetrate through even the toughest armor with a very small piece of metal, and had left many men dead or horribly wounded. There was also another weapon, which practically decimated the lines of men and made their traditional tactics unsuccessful. It was in the shape of medium sized red sticks, and when exposed to fire, it exploded with enough impact to crush through their walls and throw men backwards. Not to mention there was also many strange illnesses the Romans had never encountered before, and many were in the sick bay from either wounds or untreatable illness.

As he thought about the day's events and fretted over a new sickness that was sweeping through the camp, his gaze passing along the various buildings and areas of the heavily guarded facility, watching as the last few straggling soldiers made their way to their own sleeping quarters. Then, almost without realizing it, he found himself looking at the prison block, and felt the strange urge to walk to it, to enter its dark halls and once again face the leader of his enemies. Why in the name of Light he wanted to was a mystery, but there was something about that man, something very intriguing, and the guilt of his mistreatment from earlier was building heavily upon Octavius' shoulders. With a sigh, he pinched out the small flame in the lamp that stood nearby, and went to bed. He had nightmares about those eyes.