3 bar menu

Vol.5, Ch.5, P.5

Me name’s Tomas. A soldier I am.

Well, t’start with, I ’adn’t th’foggiest ’bout wot I felt at first on that battlefield. Summat reight queer, I tells ye. Aye, with swords an’ spears dingin’ ev’ry which way, ye can say I ought’ve been afear’d. Reightly so; I were afear’d, thass certain. Quiv’rin’ in me boots, even. But thass jus’ fine with me. “A soldier too-brave b’longs in th’grave,” th’greybeards used t’say. Aye. That I can drink to.

But fear weren’t all I felt. Reight ’nough, there were burnin’ in me bosom summat else. Summat like a flame. The kind ye feels in a bloomin’ spot o’ bother, that sears ’way th’fear inside fer yer own good, if ye gets me meanin’. A sort o’ “defensive instinct”, I think’s th’term. Well, I’ll