"When an alpha dies in battle, a period of instability results during which the whole pack is at risk until. But the instability also breeds a period of change, in which a newer, stronger leader emerges to guide his followers."
–– Kent Alfhard of House Alfhard
.
Deryk and Kent rode on their fine stead. Healthy stallions that have been treated and trained by the castle animal carers. Given their relentless attitude and rare occasion on needing a rest, Kent was quite impressed by his ride's capabilities.
For as long as the lord was concerned, he had been riding around the battlefield in a roundabout manner for the past few hours. He was keenly observing the 4 group's tactical deployment, their strategy, as well as their social competence such as leadership, teamwork, and determination.
But more so, he was especially intrigued to investigate the 4 unofficially leaders that revealed themselves to take command of their group; Thormond, Marlow, Trent, and Chappell.
They each comprise of characteristic that he is searching for. Perfect in what they are to become. Whilst some are individually flawed, no one can be perfect in this world. Kent understands that people can never be perfect, you must learn to work with one's own strength and the shortcomings.
It was well past noon, with pure white cloud floating above the sky, offering cover from the gazing sun. Kent shivered as a numbing current of air whipped against his skin, out of his comfort zone in his unruly weather.
"Deryk, what do you make of this showcase?"
"A splendour beauty, showcasing her glamour in the finest of lights." The captain smiled softly under his long-scarred face.
"Any of them catches your eyes?"
The knight captain thought back, the long patrol around the battlefield to observe each team's actions as well as spotting any standout individuals that is participating in this trial. The captain put his fingers on his chin as he considered his options.
Then, finally making his choice. Deryk opened his mouth.
"Well, it has to be him of course."
Kent acknowledged his underling,
"He too caught my eye."
.
◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇
.
Trent was a rather stoic man in his early twenties. He had short brown hair that was neither neat or cute, but one that was crudely cut for convenience. Trent was not particularly beefy by any fighter standard. In fact, Trent is rather skinny for a man doing his line of work. He had a grubby beard that covered much of his face, as well as his young age.
Sitting on the thick tree branch upon no specific tree, Trent wore a simple outfit in green and brown. It fell short of being true camouflage but one that was effective nevertheless, helping him blend into the thick forestry.
Hiding like this is already second nature for him. But it sure made him more comfortable out in the wild, it's like something's just inherently wrong for him to not embrace mother nature in all its wild glory.
He observed the eery sky above him, dark and low hanging clouds approaching ever closer upon his location, blocking the noon sun that given the nearby wildlife sunshine. The sun has well reached past the time in which it was at the highest point.
Trent instinctively knew it was past noon but there's still plenty of time before dawn. The battle won't be dragged out to the night, which is a pity that Trent could only sigh in disappointment.
But focusing back to reality, it's soon that they would arrive. And when they enter, he must greet them with the warmest of welcomes. Afterall, his dance shall be the only opportunity for his men to succeed.
So, the diminutive ranger waited ever more eagerly, sitting on the leisurely yet also with a hint of anticipation.
Trent pulled a leaf out from the nearby branch. And almost from muscle memory alone, he curled the edge of a leaf into a semi-circle, placing the arch between the lips.
With a soft blow, the magical instrument that oozed a bitter fragrant, vibrated as a melodious tune manifested, echoing in the lustrous forest.
A storm is coming.