On the morning of battle, Tom had clumsily applied paint to his cheeks. He felt like he was six years old playing with his mother's lipstick. He felt like a child. Not a warrior. Up until then he'd been all bluster and confidence, rallying the troops, undaunted in the face of uncertainty. But now....
Maxxor looked down at the boy, shocked and a little indignant. Did the boy even realise what those markings signified? How important they were? He scribbled on hasty clan signs like they were war paint.
At least he had the sense to look ashamed.
"I'm sorry." Tom's voice sounded small. Maxxor had never seen him so small before. The boy shifted his weight and looked out at the hill that they would soon be defending. "I just-" He ducked his head and confessed, "I guess I'm just trying to convince myself I'm not scared."
Because Maxxor made him brave. Maxxor always made him more than he was, better than he was. He thought that if he could carry some part of the king with him, maybe he'd feel more like a warrior.
A large forest green hand held a cloth out for him. Tom took it quickly and scrubbed his face. It was an excuse to hide from his hero. To keep the humiliation and fear from being seen.
"Sit." Tom sat on the only chair in the tent, covered in stretched hide. He kept his head down. He'd only been called to the principal's office once in his entire life and he never wanted to repeat the experience. Somehow, this felt the same.
Something cool touched his right cheek and Tom flinched in surprise. Maxxor wasn't looking at his eyes, rather he was following his finger as he applied the paint with careful precision.
"The left ridge symbolizes strength, the right, surety. Beneath them both is the hearth, a home to return too, kin. Above them all is the brow, unbending but just. Equal in all things." He spoke as he added the markings, trying to engrave their meaning and importance with every word and motion. "They don't mean anything if you do them yourself."
Maxxor straightened and offered his hand to Tom.
Tom looked up at him with wide, Mugic blue eyes and clasped his forearm, jumping to his feet.
"Thank you."
For telling me. For helping me. For being someone I can believe in.
"For this battle, you have a clan behind you. No one with those markings need ever feel afraid. Or ashamed." He turned and exited the tent.
Later, Tom would have a million questions. What about the patterns on his arms? Did they mean something too? How old was Maxxor when he stopped painting it all on and got it tatooed?
Where was his clan?
But at that moment, Tom scrambled to follow Maxxor out onto the field. Relieved and overjoyed and steady in the face of uncertainty. He was a warrior.
Intress gave Tom a surprised and aprasing look when he joined the back line, but then looked back at several humans that had her stripes painting their cheeks.
She shrugged and ruffled his hair. Maybe it was just an Overwolrd thing.
