He wasn’t crazy, that was for sure.

His father, the base commander – he was crazy. He ordered more raids on the orcs that held the city with the bridges. The orcs had two million arrows. Riding out was insane.

He wanted out – he wanted to go west. Nobody listened. His brother was crazy like crazy had never been. His brother led raids and lived through it every time. He’d stood on the tallest rubble, and shouted that it was a victory for all Men. Then he went home, because the orcs were coming back. At home, he said he’d gotten in a win for all Men. Then he ran off to ask some smart guy about a dream. Crazy was in style this year.

He’d tried to tell his father that the raids were crazy. His father ate cherry tomatoes and said, “You have won victories for all Men. You are the sanest and most valiant warrior. Wait – didn’t you leave for the meeting last week?”

Maybe he could say he had wraith blackness. Only a true King could fix that – so he could sleep at the healing house all day. That might work.