transcript
show notes
As you might already be aware, war is mostly waiting. The fighting takes less than an afternoon. But the waiting? That takes weeks. And it gets into everything. The bread. The boots. The tempers. So we pass the time as we can. Dice, mostly. Some play cards. Others prefer the monotonous task of whittling.
Young Torbin has written three letters home and posted none. However, it's music that keeps us human. Corporal Belmont plays a weathered and poorly strung fiddle. And he plays it badly. Yet the entire camp pretends otherwise. Last night several of the dragoons sang an old folk song. No one in key. Yet for several verses no one was thinking about the river. Or the cold. Or if the person next to them won't be here tomorrow to join in our songs of victory or defeat.
I do not know when we will pick up our swords and spears and defend this land with our very lives. But until we do, I will wait and insist Belmont to keep playing.
- Recovered from the Field Journal of Captain Morrow Longacre. Dated eleven days before the Massacre at Greywater River.
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