The surreal dance of the firelight on the walls lit the armory. The mournful sound of weapons and uniforms being carefully packed away echoed throughout the room. Tonight is the final time some of these warriors will see the inside of this room.
The young warriors who are preparing to depart look around at the names of those who have been chosen to fight for the glory of the Spiralhorn. Though they were not chosen to wear the horns in battle this year, they know the honor of competing for the chance is in itself an opportunity few will have.
One young man places his shield in his pack, taking one final look around. He knows that he will probably never see this place again, but there is one chance. Some day, he may be called upon to help the others practice in mock battle. If that happens, he will be ready. He will prove himself worthy.
He slowly makes his way to each person in the room, saying his final farewells to them. The fifty-three men chosen by the General stand before him, each taking time to give him a respectful farewell, treating him like a brother. As he turns to look to them one last time, he knows what he must do.
He will attend each battle, at least in spirit. His blood now flows blue and gold. He will stand ready to step into place should one of them fall. As he passes the pastures filled with cattle, he notices one whose eyes seem to be following him. Absentmindedly, he speaks. “You will see me there. I shall not fight, but I shall be ready if the General calls my name.”
He knows the entire Clan is ready for battle. He, too, shall be ready when he is needed.