Foreword: A much older story I wrote, inspired by a tiny baby skunk. My stepfather found a bunch of the children near his shed on his property back when I was a teen, put them in a box and moved them so the mother could take them. She left one behind for a few days though, he was just a tiny little thing barely clinging to life so I took care of him for a night, milk and everything, before I took him to a sanctuary since I didn't have the means to take better long term care (not that my folks would have wanted).

Once upon a time, there was a soldier on watch duty. It was past time for most of the civilized peoples to be in bed and even the owls have taken to sleeping, the sun having decided to tuck itself under its blanket hours and hours ago. As he stood frighteningly still in the tower, his eyelids demanding to sleep, he allowed his mind to wander and ponder.

The earliest memories the soldier had were of a small straw hut. His mother and father were simple villagers, poor and with 4 other children, all too young to begin working their duties. Very little the soldier understood of that time; one day his father left and never returned, but the soldier did not know why, only that he was gone. Some days he cried for his father to return to their humble hut of a home, but mostly he was content. Some days he played with other children, and with his brothers and sisters. Other days, he was sleeping for most of it. Life was going well for him.

One day, he recalled, late at night, something had changed. There was screaming, not the screams of other children wanting milk or their mother’s embrace, but screams he could not understand. It bothered his ears, so he soon joined the chorus that was the anthem of fright. Soon, a faint red glow appeared at the hole that was the entrance to the hut, and the world began to get very warm and hot, and it was hard to breathe and began to stink, so he cried louder and louder. Suddenly, his mother was there. That was all that mattered, his mother was there and everything would be fine, but it could not, would not, come quick enough. She picked up three of his brothers, while one of them, who was old enough to walk and talk and obey orders, picked him up. He was lifted up, crying and screaming. Together, as a family, they left the hut, and suddenly, even though it should be night, the world was painted with the red glow of a warm sunset, but there was darkness too. The child was able to see his village, and saw. He was old enough to know what fire was, but he had never seen fire like this, so large and vast, and covering many other huts in the village. There in the middle of town, there was a large strange man, and at his feet was one of the other village mothers, crawling away like a baby. The man lifted his arm up. He stopped seeing, as his mother adjusted her hold and obscured his vision.

The glow was soon replaced by darkness again, and the scent replaced by that of the forest. He still cried, as did his siblings. Their mother was rushing, running, and his brother that carried him was running as fast as he could, but crying, yelling. It was only later that the soldier was able to understand the words; “Mother, I can’t, mother please stop!” And then there was a great tumble, and the brother and the child he carried both crashed into the ground. The brother got up, and stumbled after his mother, and the soldier’s cries were forgotten.

Morning dawned, and still the child cried. His cries resounded throughout the forest, but it was only the forest that would hear. Eventually, he stopped crying, and laid there. Another day passed, and the child found he could not cry. A day passed, and the child was not moving, barely awake. Soon water fell from the sky, and in large amounts, and there was no protection from the rain for the child, and so he cried again, but soon became too weak to cry anymore and so he laid there. The sun began to fall again, the third day coming to a close as was the child’s life, when a shadow loomed over him.

A knight, dressed in his armor, approached the mysterious lump in the woods. He bent over, and saw a child, frightened, wet and cold, still as the dead. He kneeled over and prodded the baby with a stick, to which the child reacted with an ever so nearly imperceptible reflex. The knight arose, child in his arms, and carried it off. “You’re still alive,” he cooed. “That village was burned three days ago, little one, were you from it? Out here, in the dark and scary forest, alone and exposed, yet you live. You endure, like a soldier would. I think that’s what I’ll call you. Soldier.”

Soldier awoke with a start. The ancient sun was beginning to arise, and its light slapped him awake. He checked the time on the clock tower, and saw that it was still his shift, but it was nearly over. Soon the memory of his dream was replaced with a list of duties that he must attend to, the everyday goings on in life, and people he must talk to and meet with. It was only later that day that he remembered that he dreamt, but try as he might the memory of the dream escaped him.