Snippet #1504683

Talking to a commander was far from Grim’s mind. At the present he enjoyed the peace. Preparations were being made for the night and the men were gravely silent from the battle. Mourners were common and even from where he stood he could hear the mingled sounds of pain and laughter. Some were overjoyed at their victory, and others were laying on a makeshift cot in agony.
As for the Black Knight specifically he preoccupied himself with lending a hand where he could. Aiding in the chores that needed tending. Fetching wood for the fires, helping set up tents or digging ditches. Keeping himself occupied and ultimately ignorant to his captain’s doings. Of course later he heard that there was an enemy general in their custody. It was a good sign and a clever plan, but Grim couldn’t help feeling doubtful as to its effectiveness. Such wit had won the field today, but who knows what tomorrow would bring.
Blackpond was dealt an insult. They would return angry as ever. Grim frowned at that prospect he knew that hate was poisonous. It could grant incredible feats and even fell foes who are otherwise unbeatable but it has a price. It fills the heart and mind with a madness and blinds reason. He understood this well for there was a rage that shadowed his spirit. Some may call it a blessing, and others a curse. For Grim it’s often a struggle. A lifestyle that required some caution. He was sane most of the time but it only takes one wrong event to set in motion a chain of regrets.