The Sight

He performed the cleaning rituals on his weapons, washed his clothes, re-oiled his gear, and mended a tear in his plain canvas tent. The fragrant spring breeze drifted through, chilling his bones, even as the sun still rose. Soldiers and followers hailed him occasionally as they passed, but mostly left him to his chores. Finished, he sat on the folding camp stool and pulled a leather bound book from his pack. Settling in to read, he sighed. He was an old man; his retirement was behind him. He did not have the sight, but he knew his days were numbered.