For a long time, Alistair stood there watching her go off without saying a word. His expression showed a mixture of things, relief being one of them. It was a relief that had gone the way it had but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat annoyed by her parting words. He couldn’t really place a finger on why… No, no, that was actually a lie… If he thought about it, he knew exactly why it annoyed him. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it.<br/><br/>Well, that was it then! She told him not to go out of the camp so he wouldn’t go out. Deep down, he had wanted her to talk him out of this and had not thought ahead about what he would have done if she had pushed him into going or actually suggested she go with him. That could have ended in a disaster, so in a way this was a win on his part. If Weylyn came by and asked him what he had been up to, then he would just say that he hadn’t been allowed out of camp. It was that simple, right? Surely the God of the Hunt couldn’t argue with that.<br/><br/>Alistair found himself thinking about his parents at that moment, mostly his father. He always went out on a hunt no matter how dangerous it was, no matter how much his mother would beg him, and always ended up coming back in one piece.<br/><br/>He was an obedient little boy growing up for the most part, following whatever rules were in place have always been he has been conditioned to. If his mother and father told him no, then he simply would not do whatever it was he was being told not to do. That wasn’t to say that he was always that well-behaved. Sometimes he would slack off or just run away, choosing to shirk his duties. Sometimes he would take all the credit for something he didn’t do.<br/><br/>Well… he wanted credit for the things he did do…<br/><br/>Sighing heavily, he turned back toward the camp. Tonight he would do as he was told no matter how much he wanted to just… What?  Shirk duties? Run away? Maybe he wanted to leave camp not to bring back a few Tutar heads, but to run away and forget about this war, about everything… It would be a lie to say that thought was not there. If he was killed then… No. It wouldn’t be as easy as that, no, he couldn’t run away, because she had been right about one thing. This camp needed all the help it could get. People needed assistance, medicine, supplies, anything to prepare for the next Tutar attack.<br/><br/>The sun barely peering over the horizon made him realize just how long he had been awake. He was starting to feel a little fatigued, tired, ready to take a nap for a good hour or so. After that, who knew.<br/><br/>“There you are.”<br/><br/>Alistair nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to face a man he recognized immediately. It was Jaron. Years ago, Jaron and Alistair’s father would go out on hunts together. His was a face that he was very welcoming to.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Form up!”</span></span><br/><br/>Alistair jumped and glanced around at the people who had immediately responded to the request, Jaron, who muttered: “I guess we’ll talk later”, included, before settling into formation himself. He recognized the voice immediately, and could not help but stand in front so he could get in on the details of what was going on. Prince Barth stood before the group of formed ranks, speaking with a man he only knew by face and not name. He was one of the Gods who came to aid them in the fight. Alistair looked away, turning his attention to the group around him, who all looked eager to join the Prince, eager to fight.<br/><br/>He felt dread wash over him like a tidal wave, and he could do nothing to hold back a groan from escaping him. So, the Tutar were coming again, and if he was hearing things correctly they were coming to surrender! He silently cheered, relief washing over him. But that feeling faded quickly when he looked at the faces in the crowd. Some looked just as relieved but many others looked on in disbelief.<br/><br/>Alistair looked around for Jaron, spotting him amongst a group of fellow Lebi knights. They were talking amongst each other, just out of Alistair’s earshot.<br/><br/>Without realizing it, giving it no second thought, Alistair started moving with the group accompanying Barth. Maybe he wanted to know if it was too good to be true himself. If this truly was an end to the war, in his mind, that was something that anyone wanted to see. No more loss, no more suffering, everyone could put this whole thing behind them and look toward the future… If not for the request of a small group, he was sure more would have stepped forward.<br/><br/>Damn, he should just head back to the camp.<br/><br/>He tried his best to keep a face but, deep down, for the first time, he prayed. Let this be the end of the war.