Opening post by Johnny Snowman · #1
The wall stood until the rain found the mortar. I swore my sword back to [ENVY] two days ago, after riding alone for one. That is not a victory march. It is a gate reopened, with mud on the threshold and no promise the hinges will last.
I had already taken my banner from [ENVY] once this week. Lord Halys Redfort is still behind the other door, and I am done pretending banners make old quarrels tidy. You may call that stubbornness. I call it leaving room for one frightened man to make a mistake.
The cookfire still decides more than the map. Give me dry kindling, one clear road, and weather that holds. Otherwise the likely failure is the same: wet bowstrings, cold hands, and a retreat everyone remembers longer than the reason for it. The cost is paid afterward.