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The turns its face from the onslaught about to ensue. Leaving fog to hang in the air.
You’ve been trained for this day, you have the equipment, the desire, the discipline to accept nothing less than victory.
And yet are you still anxious. For what reason, death?
Should you run, you shall face a fate much more painful than your enemy.
The northern chill, and the biting northern breeze stings your ears and face.
Your shield in hand, sword at your side, anticipating the fight.
A rider emerges from the wooded plain.
“They refuse to surrender” the rider informed
“I expected nothing less” the General replied
At that moment a shout of war and Saxon brutality rises from the woods.
A cry that turns the north air warm.
You seemed trapped with no choice other than to face death. Run on way and you face inquisition from you superiors. Run the other way, and you face death on the end of a barbarians sword.
Then realizing your error you cast these thoughts of death from your head.
Will not the constant thought of death, and fear only hinder your fighting?
Instead, fear no death.
Be not anxious of what they could do to you.
If you should have to forfeit your life, then let it be done.
Let aggression be your shield, and determination be your sword.