A/N: Happy yesterday was Valentine's Day!
Faolan woke up to a long horn, loud and long and ringing out over the encampment. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at green canvas- the top of a tent. She blinked slowly and then stretched, feeling sore from the last day's run. The air inside the tent was still a little cool, and from the light coming in, Fao judged it be just after dawn. She heard some movements off to the side, and turning her head, she saw Toril getting up and pulling her boots on.
"Good morning, Faolan," she said with a smile, when she saw the girl was awake.
"Morning," Fao answered sleepily, sitting up. Out from under her furs, the open air was chilly against her bare skin, raising goose bumps- even though it was summer, and warm.
A hand knocked against their tent and a voice said, "The horn means rising time. Get dressed and meet me out here- I'll show you what to do."
Faolan quickly pinned it as the soldier that had led them here last night, and she did as she was bid. It took her a few moments to locate the clothing she'd been given- she seemed to have rolled around a lot in her sleep, and her furs were all over the place. But in only a few moments she was lacing up her boots as well, her fingers quickly remembering the old patterns. Toril then stood up, as much as she could in the low tent, and pushed back the tent flap.
A gust of cool early morning air flooded in and Faolan took a deep breath of it, finishing up her boots and then scampering after Toril. Outside, the a warm glow hovered near the eastern horizon. There was a low hum of voices and movement- the sound of the camp waking up. All around her, Faolan could see tents stretching for what seemed like almost a quarter mile. There was no tent that she could see that stood out- apparently the Commander was taking no chances about this camp being attacked. Near the center of the tents a huge column of smoke rose up, black and billowing- so maybe he wasn't worried about being attacked after all.
The tents were situated in rows, placed with about a foot between their sides, and leaving twenty feet between each row. All around, heads were poking out of the tents and strong warrior bodies were moving around. The slight clink of chain mail was all around, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and werewolves and metal.
The encampment itself was inside a small valley- really more of a dip in between the mountains. Right outside the encampment the hills rose up steeply, covered thickly with pine trees. Faolan imagined that they must have a good perimeter to be down like this, where an enemy could come down on them from the peaks. Then again, the other side didn't have werewolves- even as Faolan thought that she heard a high pitched howl rising from behind her. Turning around, she saw nothing in the woods in the mountains behind, but then she heard another howl. Yes, she decided, We are definitely well protected.
With a smile she turned to the soldier. In the growing light, she could see him more clearly, and she put him in his early twenties. His hair was cropped short, and brown, and his face was very youthful. Faolan doubted he'd been very long. His nose was round, a bit like Christopher Alaska's, and he was short for a guy, but still taller than Faolan.
"Good morning," he said, "I'm going to be your mentor for the first few days. My name is Henri."
"Faolan," Faolan said, shrugging her shoulders to make the chain mail sit better. She wondered if she would always have to wear it.
"And Toril," Toril added in, her gaze flicking around the encampment.
"Well," Henri said, "First thing's first. Breakfast."
He turned around and headed towards the center of the encampment, following the general flow of werewolves. Faolan look around as they walked, and was amazed at the sheer number of werewolves. As far as she could see, there weren't any Karsites.
As the sun peaked over the tops of the mountains, they reached the center, where a huge fire was roaring up. On one side of the fire what looked like an entire elk was roasting, and on the other side was what smelled like a pot of oatmeal. Soldiers- werewolves- were milling around, some seated on log benches, others standing, and all kept away from the heat of the fire, except for the ones that looked like they were assigned to cooking duty.
"Here's the meal place," Henri said, "Breakfast, lunch, dinner…." He motioned at a long, low tent to the right, "That's the cook's tent. If you ever need journey food, go there, or if you've missed a meal."
Faolan nodded absently and kept looking around at all the faces, and all the varying weapons strewn across backs and against hips. These were warriors here. She kept her eyes moving, hoping to catch a glance of Roscoe and Sigourney- or even Donar. A few minutes later she saw the first two meander in, a different soldier leading them. She waved, and Roscoe caught it and waved back. They moved through the crowd towards them.
"Hey Fao," Roscoe said, shoving a lock of blond hair from his eyes, "Sleep well?"
Faolan nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed by being back in a war camp. It was all so familiar, yet totally unfamiliar. She'd never been at war as Faolan, nor had she ever been in a werewolf war camp.
After a few minutes, the oatmeal was being dished out, so they all got in line for their breakfast. By the time they were finished eating, the sun was quite up, and most of the warriors had disappeared- to where, Faolan did not know. Henri led them through the camp to a large clearing near the edge of the forest. The dirt was hard packed, and off to one side was a set of targets. A group of soldiers were lined up, shooting arrows at the target. Faintly, across the field, Faolan could hear, "Ready! Fire at will!" In another corner, pairs of werewolves danced with their swords clanging against each other.
"The practice field," Henri announced, "As new recruits, you'll spend at least half your time here, until they know what your skills are and can place you to go to the lines. The rest of your time you'll spend in chores. Digging latrines, covering up latrines, cooking, hunting, gathering, perimeter building, arrow making, sword sharpening, waiting on the Commander, being guard, cleaning… all of those things and more. Depending on what you're good at, of course. And when you're ready: assignment."
"What do you do?" Faolan inquired, looking directly at Henri now, instead of letting her eyes wander around as they had all morning.
"Right now?" he asked, then with a half grin, he said, "I help the new recruits. Today- and I'll show you where the chore assignments are later, I'm on dinner duty. As I said earlier, today I'm sticking with you, and you're sticking with me, so you have dinner duty also. Either of you know how to cook?"
"Yeah," Faolan said with a nod, and Toril glanced over at her with a questioning look. Faolan suddenly realized she'd never worked with the food back at the village and so she shrugged and said, "Well, I'm rusty, but I know the basics."
"Good," Henri said, then looked at Toril, "How about you?"
Toril shrugged and said in her low voice, "I won't cut my fingers off or burn them."
"All right," Henri continued, "Well, let's get out to the practice field. If you're not in active duty- going out and killing the enemy, that is, or on scout duty or reconnaissance, you're separated into one of five groups, each with a subcommander. There's also a Scout Captain, and several Captains in charge of fighting and such, all underneath the Commander. I'm in Group D of the inactive. But you don't really need to worry about any of the hierarchy and organization. After the three days with me, you'll have a Captain to respond to. Your responsibility will be to take orders, and obey them. That's it. Now let's go practice."
Henri led them out to where a group of about fifteen werewolves were practicing with swords. A tall woman was watching them with a severe eye. Her hair was dark, and braided down her back. She didn't seem to notice Henri until the young soldier said, "Henri here, reporting for practice."
Then she turned and look at him with a critical eye and said, "Send the freshies to Kemp. Then get a sword and get in here."
Henri nodded briskly, and then marched them over to another part of the field, where an old werewolf leaned on a staff, watching several young, and clearly green warriors whack each other with sticks. A few days ago, watching them spar, Faolan would have said they were good, but after being here just a half day, she could already tell that an encampment was far, far different from a village. These werewolves were trained. They could fight, really fight. No wonder no one was winning this war yet.
Henri handed them over to the weaponsmaster then marched back to the woman weaponsmaster, leaving them alone. Fao spied Roscoe sparring with Sigourney off to the side, and felt more comfortable knowing she would be with familiar faces.
"Greetings," he said, then looked at Faolan, "Yer awfully young to be here. Think this is a game?"
"No sir," Faolan replied as curtly as she could.
"Good," he answered with a chuckle, "My name is Kemp. I'm the ranking weaponsmaster here, and my job is to make sure you're good enough that you don't die. Or at least you take down a few of them silvers before you do!"
"Silvers, sir?" Faolan inquired.
"What we call them Valdemarens," he answered, "They're armed with silver now, and they wear blue and silver. It seems to fit."
Faolan made no answer to that. She couldn't think of one. It scared her, to be here on the front, where the ones she was living with actually killed Valdemarens on a daily basis. Back at the village… those people hadn't really been her enemies. These people were. If Kemp, or Henri, or even Toril found out who she really was… They'd kill her. Without a second thought. She'd be just another silver. Faolan shivered.
Kemp leaned down and picked up a few extra staffs that were lying on the ground, "Staff work today- may seem inane, but I think you'll find it useful if you ever find yourself without a weapon and a good stick is on the ground."
He grinned, revealing crooked teeth, and handed both Toril and Faolan a staff, adding on, "Might as well pair up with each other. It'll give me an idea of both yer abilities."
Faolan nodded, and took the staff in her hands. It was smooth, sanded by the sweat and grip of many, many others. She stepped back, finding some space on the field, her boots quiet on the packed dirt. Then she found a comfortable grip on the staff, and faced Toril. The woman gave Faolan a half sort of smile and said, "Ready?"
"Ready," Faolan answered and jumped forward, swinging her staff around to whack Toril on the left leg. Toril's staff swept downwards, meeting Fao's in a sharp thwap!
They danced around each other, each trying to avoid getting the sun in their eyes, and put it in their opponents. Faolan, who hadn't done much staff work with the werewolves, was a bit rusty in dragging up her memories of the moves. But she was good enough to block Toril most of the time. As the sun grew higher, Faolan's world dwindled down to just her staff, Toril, and Toril's staff. Sweat trickled down her back and forehead. Her muscles ached, but she was in autopilot- she could keep going until she dropped from sheer exhaustion. The thwock! of staff against staff became monotonous in her ears- she didn't even hear it.
Finally, when the sun was nearing the peak of its path through the sky, Kemp called out a halt and Faolan stopped, blinking to get herself back into the real world. She pressed her staff into the ground and leaned on it, panting heavily, and looked up at Toril with a grin.
"That was fun," she said breathlessly.
Toril stared at her for
a moment and then shrugged and said, "It was exercise. It was
fighting. It'll keep us alive some day."
Faolan shrugged back,
not sure what to make of Toril, as usual, and looked over at Kemp,
and the rest of the fighters around. All were in similar positions of
grateful rest. Roscoe was laughing at something Sigourney must have
said, and she found herself smiling.
"Break," Kemp said, "Water- no food. Be back in five minutes or you'll be running around the field the rest of the day."
Faolan glanced around to see what everyone else was doing, and saw them going over to a set of huge double barrels. Placing her staff on the ground she moved over to Roscoe and Sigourney, announcing herself with a, "Hey! Roscoe! Sig!"
"Fao!" Roscoe said with a grin and jogged over to her, then grabbed her and picked her up in a hug, "Feels like a long time since I saw you!"
"Uh, Roscoe," Faolan said once he set her down, "We've been in the same practice group all morning."
"Really?" he inquired, pretending to look startled, "Well never mind. Let's go get some water. Wonder where we could find a good water skin to drag some water around with us?"
"Probably in the supplies tent, wherever that is," Faolan answered as they walked towards the barrels with the rest in the group. It was hot, and everyone smelled of sweat and dirt. It was a good smell.
Once everyone had congregated around Kemp he looked at them all gruffly and said, "Right. We're done with staffs for the day. Everyone run around the practice field ten times. And yes, with your chain mail on."
There was some groans from people who'd been there longer. Faolan looked at the practice field. It was about an eighth of a mile across, so that meant one time around was about half a mile. That meant they were running five miles. She shrugged. That wasn't so bad. Easier in wolf form of course, but soldiers should be in good enough shape to run that much. Endurance was something they would all need, in the long run.
"Get going!" Kemp said, and waved a clawish hand at them. Faolan looked at Roscoe and he nodded. They started running, first towards the edge of the field, at the forest's edge, and then around it. It felt strange to be running in boots- Faolan had gotten used to the feel of having her toes dig into leaf, dirt, and rock when she ran, but no more. In the sun, it was hot, and Faolan began to feel her chain mail shirt pressing against her body, hot and heavy. A slight breeze had picked up, and it dried the sweat to some extent, but it was still hard going.
She could hear Roscoe and Sigourney behind her- hear their footsteps and their heavy breathing. They ran for about two hours. When they were done Kemp called practice over, and all the werewolves except for Faolan, Toril, Sigourney, and Roscoe left to go to other things. Chores, Fao mused.
"You all did good today," Kemp offered, "Skylar trains them well. I think you'll be reporting to me once you're settled in. Yer mentors' are finished their practices too, so go and get with them and I'll see you tomorrow."
Faolan quickly spied Henri off to the side of the practice field, and she and Toril made their way over to him. He looked sweaty and disheveled, and Faolan figured she and Toril probably looked the same.
"Lunch time," he said with a grin, and Fao realized she was ravenous.
After lunch they went to the cook's tent, where the three of them were assigned to start help cooking the night's stew. Faolan spent the rest of the day chopping meat and vegetables in a hot tent, surrounded by many moving bodies. It was loud and noisy and Faolan decided she enjoyed it. By the time she fell onto her furs that night, she was exhausted, and she fell asleep almost instantly.