The falling rain was cool. It ran in lines down the general's back and shoulders, matted his hair and caught the lights on his marks, making it almost look like he shimmered. He sat just barely inside the mouth of the cavern system that he and his warriors had taken shelter in after rejoining the bulk of the horde. Behind him, warriors of Gunmar's army ate, sparred (or straight out fought, but this was usually tolerated as weeding out the weak), and dozed. Its was more or less a typical night for them, the night before an intended raid. And this would be a full-scale raid at that! A large human settlement had been located, scouted, and chosen as their next target. Rough population count put the humans at around a thousand.
The horde's numbers? Perhaps three hundred here, with maybe another hundred to join in the night's next few hours. With their planned night attack to come the following sundown, superior strength, and the fact that human warriors had no weapons that could really do much harm to them, it was more than enough. It would be a rich conquest.
But the general's mind wasn't on the impending battle. In his mind's eye he kept seeing the fleshbag juvenile, the flying rock, the scrap toy, and the enemy Troll. The one that by all reason he should've attacked, killed.
But he had hesitated. The heart for the fight hadn't been in him, in either moment.
What was wrong with him? With a violent motion and a low, dangerous growl he shook his head, as if he could physically dislodge these traitorous thoughts. His hands clenched into the stone he sat upon, digging furrows as the stubborn thoughts remained, and he lowered his head, letting his eyes close. His chest hurt, and the heaviness there was exhausting, dragging him mentally down into despair. A part of him wanted sleep, but another part dreaded what dreams might come when he gave in to it.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, drawing close, and for a moment as his eyes came open the more-accustomed aggression he'd felt most of his life reared its head. He almost spun around to growl out at the one who intruded on his thoughts, unwanted though they might be. His desire not to provoke another fight, however, ended up saving his life.
"Thinking on the battle ahead, general?" The general tensed for a split second, then quickly got to his feet and turned to crouch down in the closest thing he could to kneeling before the mighty warrior before him: Bular, second in command of the entire horde and son of Gunmar himself.
"I do not blame you; it will be glorious!" Bular laughed, rubbing his hands together. "And I have a belief that there will be even greater battle to be had than just the fleshbag defenders."
"Greater?" The times that the general spoke were rare, but when he did his voice was a deep, rumbling one.
"I believe that those weaklings - " Bular didn't need to say who he meant; it was understood. " - are in the area, and when they hear the sounds of our conquest you know that human-sentimental fool Daya will try to stop us." His ruby eyes glittered with a wicked light. "We'll feast and litter the field with the rubble of their bodies!" He laughed, though the general just rumbled. A clash with their enemies. Instantly his mind jumped to the one he'd seen in the village. Would he be there? Would the general be forced to kill him?
Why did he feel no thrill at the prospect of the battle at all?
Thankfully for the general's life, Bular took his response to be agreement and in a rare gesture of pleasure thumped a heavy hand on the general's shoulder.
"Yes, there will be enough food and blood even for you, my general. And tomorrow will only be a taste of the grand battle to come! My father has uncovered the location for Daya's great plan to stop him." He bellowed a laugh at the absurdity of that thought. "My father will crush that insufferable Daya, after she sees her 'hope' demolished before her eyes. And quite likely, in recognition of your deeds, you will be part of its destruction." The words were intended to inspire a desire for battle and bloodshed, a want to kill. In that it succeeded, just not as the son of the warlord may have wanted. The general's hand closed into a powerful fist and he slammed it onto the ground at his side hard enough to crack the stone, an attempt to channel the impulse before he did something foolish and ended up losing his life for it.
In that moment, he wanted to attack someone all right: Bular, Gunmar, the others of the horde - any of those who would follow orders that meant the death of yet more humans and Trolls.
A moment later the intense emotion passed, leaving in its wake an almost exhausting desire for it all to simply stop. No more fighting, no more blood. He was done. He wanted to be done. But what could he do? Leave the horde? A death sentence, even if he could find a way to survive on his own otherwise. Gunmar did not permit deserters. His fate was good and truly trapped.
Still unaware of his general's mind, Bular merely gave a caution for him to rest deep, then departed. As daybreak was not far away, the general moved deeper within the cave to a secluded chamber and huddled down onto the bare stone to try and sleep, heart aching and miserable.