Jon I - Who Marches over there? It be Marchers!

“I tell yah, imma be the first to spy the Bloobbeak and put an ‘rrow right in his socket.” Edd boasted as he restrung his bow. “Aye. I could split an apple off his ‘ead wit’ the first. And kill 'em wit’ da second.” 

“You do that. I'll find me a swan to defeather.” Ser Bryce Caron had been running that damn oilcloth over his sword all morning. As if it were to get any more ready for battle. His black mail and plate shining in the afternoon sun under his yellow tabard. On his breast, nightingales took flight into the sky. On his face, a stubble grew, darkening the young man's features. 

Guy could not help but crack a wry smile. The two had been trying to one-up the other all march. Usually exposing how green they truly were. It was the way of the Marchers. Whilst the man traded jabs and barbs, the bastard from Nightsong awaited the arrival of his outriders. Sent down toward the ford to seek a crossing. It had been far too long since their leaving, and a lingering worry arose again.

A noise on the edge of hearing. Easily ignored if it had not been so persistent. Turning his head toward the noise, Guy spotted his riders. Kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake.

“SWANN! BLOODY SWANN!” The man cupped his hands and shouted, nearly losing his saddle in the process.

“Ready the lines! Mount up!” Guy tossed on his half helm and grabbed up his mace. “Seems you boys might get your wish.”