[Farael]

As night fell, it was time for rest. Yet almost none of the riders could find any. Osmod had volunteered for the first watch, even though it was a watch only in name for there were many of them who were still awake. Leod had gone to get some sleep and Meghan was looking over Sythric and Brand who seemed to be injured the most. It would be something to consider the following morning, yet Osmod had other things to worry about. He had heard some of the tells Sythric and Ræwald had shared by the bonfire when they thought all of the rest were asleep and he wondered how it would be like to be a rider of The Mark. Visions of glory and fame ran through Osmod’s mind as he walked to the fire to get a cup of hot tea. He imagined himself sitting tall on his mount, his armour shining on the sun as he and his fellow riders charged against hordes of orcs –and were victorious. Absently he reached for the kettle, dreaming now about the time he would gain recognition in the field of battle and as a proof of his prowess he’d leave the head of an orc impaled on his spear as a warning to any other of those foul beasts that may follow.

Yet this orc’s head was hot. Burning hot. So hot Osmod could not help to let out a cry, as he found himself dragged back to reality and the fact that he had been holding on to the kettle, and not by the handle. Cursing at his lapse of attention he emptied half of his water-skin on his scorched fingers. For a moment he tried to act as if he was alright, yet the pain on his hand was just too much to bear. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he walked over to Leod who seemed to be at least partially awake and asked for a little help with his burns. He did not even hear what the healer replied, embarrassed as he was.