Battle focus

I was sitting under a tree watching the rain. Gentle water drops fell from the sky, pattering against the land, the thin, green leaves danced and shook from the wind and rain.

            I stayed in a meditative state for several hours as I focused on sight of the lush field, the trees that dotted the land and the rain that fell upon it all. I listened to the raindrops, the wind and the shaking of branches. I felt my breath, I felt my hands grip my sword and I chose not to feel the wound in my abdomen.

            The blood was staunched, the wound was dressed and I continued to draw breath. The pain would have been unbearable if I was not meditating.

This was not the meditation of a monk or holy man lost in prayer, this was a kind of meditation that I taught myself after years on the battlefield. Years of pain and self discipline showed me the way to focus on every little detail of life, take it all in and feel everything except the pain. During this focus, I could not move, I wouldn’t feel hunger or thirst and if I broke my focus, the pain would rush back like a tidal wave.

            I observed the sun rise and set, I watched the moon and felt the insects of the field land on my skin and clothes, then fly off, completely unaware of my existence. When someone chooses to ignore their own suffering, others will often ignore it as well. One does not ask a tree about the day, or consult a sleeping man on the weather.

            Time was lost, it fell away with the rest of life. I awoke in the dead of night, confused, and in pain. I had stayed meditating for so long that I had collapsed from exhaustion. I have no way of knowing how long I slept or how much time had passed since I had been stabbed.

            My wound was dried and scabbed, my sword was still stuck in the ground but it was leaning in a pile of uneven dirt. I was hungrier than I had been in a very long time and my throat was dry as sand.

            I pulled on a thin chain, one end was connected to the bracer on my arm and the other was connected to my traveling bag. I dragged my travelers bag to my hunched form as I lay on the ground. The bag was easy to open but hard to steal. Nothing had been stolen from my bag but there had been times when I would awaken to find my sword stolen along with contents of the bag. Knowing I couldn’t protect my bag at all times, I chained it to my arm and built a secret compartment on the bottom of it. Anyone who stole from travelers would do so quickly and take the path of least resistance. They stole trinkets and extra clothes and blankets but never looked hard enough to find my secret compartment.

            The compartment held emergency food and water and all of my most valuable and sentimental possessions. I always needed food and water as soon as my meditation would end and I could not risk awakening to find I was weak, in the wilderness and without food or water.

My energy improved as I ate and drank. My wound was a dull ache and I had the energy to walk again. I continued my journey forward. I had survived another war, another dance with death and those who left me for dead will see me walk back into town with two working legs and the strength of a healthy soldier.

I am a mercenary, the indomitable swordsman and the survivor of over a hundred battle wounds. I am Virtus.