Describing the early days of Wallace’s campaign against King Edward’s occupation.
Danger and hardship were the rebels’ constant companions. Cold Scottish rain running down the back of your neck, cold winds, cold damp leather, cold wet feet, a frosty morning’s wakening with stiff bones on the hard earth. The fireless camp with only a stone to suck to hold back the rumble of your belly, the poor horses having only the hard iron of the bridle for their sustenance. The odd sound, or a crow’s sudden flight, that makes your heart race and has you fitting an arrow to the bowstring. Hearing kind words and warning of danger from people, but at the same time searching their eyes for the traitor’s smile.
There is no romance in this life inside a stinking suit of chain mail. Only the satisfaction of being true to your cause, your companions, yourself.
The hours in the saddle, the hours of watching and waiting, the terrible tension of the wait. And then, the whoosh, a rush of arrows. Ambush! Dirt and blood mixed freely…