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The first training days were extremely hard. As always I would get up two hours before eight to either clean my cloth or my corner in the barracks. After wards I always went to check out on my horse friend Thorondor and sometimes taking him for a quick ride. Then I went to the training fields were I had found a place to shoot my bow for a few minutes every day before presenting myself to the commander a little before eight. I tried my best to always be there before the hour so not to give him any pretext from which to turn on me.
The training was abusive. What I first thought to be a toughening and strengthening treatment seemed sometimes to be more for the commander’s amusement than for our sake. But, truth to be said, my opinion was influenced by my companions’ in pain; and it was pain what we felt every time we had a chance to stop and rest, which was not every evening. If it was hard for me, that was moderately accustomed to run and climb through the forest when hunting, to most of my colleagues it was overwhelming. And our bonds grew stronger.
When the men weren’t too tired to speak, they would talk about their families and loved ones, and the reasons that made them decide to leave all of it behind. Usually I kept silent, not because I had no strength to speak, but because I could really relate. I left nothing behind, my parents were dead, and I didn’t have a family and never had a loved one. In all that time that was something I missed. I missed something I never knew because I saw the strength they took from the memory of those they loved. Although my life is naturally longer I also long for a family and at that moment, surrounded by humans I felt something of their urgency in living. This feeling was also augmented by the fact that I was preparing for war and people tend to die when they combat. After all, those who wander in the rain get wet…
We begun to wander were the youth who had challenged the Commander was. We hadn’t seen him for a wile and close to the end of the week most of us believed that he had been caste out, as were so many others. My secret desire about this was that after being disciplined he would return to the group. After all his attitude show a strong spirit and a strong spirit is like a good blade, if controlled is able to do amazing things but if it’s broken it becomes useless. But the only winning army is a disciplined one and the commander is ruthless.
Pretty much all of the men hated him by now. I couldn’t help but to sympathise with the commander. His was an unpleasant and hard part. To train “ork spits” like us and turning us into killing machines. And although mindless killing was something I appalled trusted that the army leaders would only send us to kill if a superior reason was behind the orders.
By the end of the week my muscles were tired but burning with renewed strength. I could run with the weights better than the first times, with less effort, and the mindless push ups were becoming second nature. I had more cuts and bruises than I had for a long time but I felt good. This was fun. The brotherhood, the colony spirit, the union with these unknown men that were becoming like family, colours humans paint life with, so different form an elf’s and yet so understandable. I felt like home and wouldn’t have it any other way now. Of course most of my companions were too tired to feel this, or anything for that matter, and just hated their luck, wishing to be expelled and never quitting.
In the seventh day of practice I did as usual. I visited Thorondor, practiced with my bow and a little before eight stood in the training field next to Dedrick waiting for the others, wandering about what expected us.
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