*Rory*
The chill of the Highland morning bites through my cloak as I stand at the edge of MacRae land. Mist clings to the hills and drifts through the valley below, silver and slow-moving like breath exhaled from the earth itself. We have the high ground.
This isn't a drill, training exercise, a staged assault with blanks and simulated fire. It’s not even a war zone the way I remember it with night vision goggles, satellite intel, and commands in my ear. No. This is dirt, blood, blades, and screaming horses.
This is what war looked like before humanity learned how to destroy itself from a distance. When men could only kill each other eye to eye.
And I’m afraid.
I don’t say it aloud, but I feel it in my gut. Not the familiar fear of dying. This morning, I fear for the people I love.
