Great...
...still raining.
A soggy six-day trip and head-to-toe wet clothes perpetuated his misery.

Marc Proudstrider rode on his horse through the falling mist. He shook the water from his dark blue drenched rain cloak, and felt it drain into his riding boots. His armor felt even heavier wet, and the Army considered it light armor. It consisted of a chain-coat, a dark blue and gold trim tunic, and black pants. When wet, the outfit felt like wearing pikesman's full battle-plate. His crimson and dark blue plaid Academy scarf hung off him like a cold soup noodle, slopping around and getting caught in everything it could.

The past couple of months were unusually wet as it rained end on end, flooding countless farm fields and homesteads, and every one he passed looked waterlogged and muddy. Thankfully, the raised stone-cobbled roads and well-built bridges built by the Merchant's Guild allowed the special detachment of men from Riverton to travel as far as they did given the bad weather.

For the record though, one bridge did wash out, and we had a near-disaster crossing it, he mused, running his hand through his drenched shoulder-length brown hair. He felt sorry for the scouts in the cart nearly dumping itself into the river.

The difficulty of finding a dry camp for the night, or even getting a cooking fire going made the trip so much worse. He wanted to ride straight through, as this miserable weather made camping terrible. Lucky for them, the Academy assigned a detachment of Royal Scouts to their unit, they were experts in reconnaissance and survival, and used to long wilderness treks.

Although about half of the twenty or scouts so were now complaining the planners of this expedition tossed them into two supply wagons. The expedition planners back in the warm confines of the Academy deemed taking this many horses along unnecessary. Marc likened them to coin counters. The long, bumpy cart ride made everyone irritable. Marc guessed now the Realms were at peace they felt cutting corners on military equipment and spending more money decorating the Academy the wiser choice.

The wonders of modern efficiencies? Or Shand'ara's design?

He sighed, what are we getting into?

He pitied his horse, which he named Charger, not for his bravery, but for the damned horse's lack of judgment. The beast nearly drowned him on one river crossing, and Marc pulled Charger out of a muddy marsh on the other. Although he admired the horse's single-mindedness, it reminded him of his father, High-General Nathaniel Proudstrider, a whole lot.

Of all the precautions his father insisted on to keep him safe, his father bought him a horse which would probably be his undoing. He patted his wet friend on the neck in sympathy. He still loved the freedom of having a mount, riding through the countryside, and getting away from school politics for a while. The constant competition between the junior officers, the spit-and-polish pageantry for royals and the rich, and the constant dressings down and lectures by regular Army officers drained him. He never spent enough time with his girlfriend Chase, and he felt guilty whenever school cut his promises to her short.

The column rode a straight week on horseback out of the capital city of Riverton. At first, he volunteered for this duty but they turned him down because a full complement filled the mission's ranks. The Academy assigned Junior Lieutenant Gavin Fleet as the mission's junior officer. Marc's father, a war hero and prominent general, pulled some strings, and the Academy assigned him as a special liaison to the detachment, bumping Gavin down to third in command, much to Gavin's discontent. He hated living as the son of a famous war hero. People wanted to do everything for you, mainly to win favor with his father, and he felt he never could prove himself to his peers.

Lately, thoughts of retirement occupied Father's mind, so Marc felt pressured to speed up his military career. Marc knew Father's influence greased cogs and pulled his career's strings, and he hated when Army life went a little too smoothly. It seemed sometimes Father spent all the favors he gathered over the years for Marc's benefit. While he could understand he would probably do favors for his son, it unnerved him when he felt his success came from just someone else's efforts.

One side of him thought his father, a widower since shortly after the last war, wouldn't retire. What would Father do? Dad led a physically active life, preferring action to armchair generaling. Father only knew the military life, joining at a young age. Marc didn't know what Father would do without the Army.

Marc never knew his mother, save for some portraits in Father's estate.

Growing up with a military man almost assured he would sign up too. They offered him an officer's commission just because of his father's rank and status. He gladly took it, not knowing what else he could do with his life. His discipline proved to his benefit, his grades were good, and using a sword came easy. The plus side of signing up for the Riverton Royal Calvary is he rode horses often, something he loved to do. He mused his father would hate him if he signed with the Riverton Royal Armed Footsoldiers, his father's old unit. He could remember the horror stories Father used to tell him about the fierce battles, and constantly warned him of the dangers of infantry life.

He begged his father for assignment on this mission, and they excused him from the Officer's Academy in Riverton for a semester, even though they labeled this an expeditionary force. After pleading, and a little threatening of marrying a local tavern girl, did Father pull enough strings to assign him to the mission. Only at the last minute, did he learn Dad had the last laugh.