All Dane could feel were the hands patting their back and shoulder, congratulating them. They could see the jealousy in some. The excitement in others. They were a squire — this is what they had all worked towards. This was the reason they joined the Brotherhood, to become squire to a knight. This was the highest honor afforded.

That night, they got sick behind the tent. They had been excited, for a moment. But that was over now. Now the fear set in. They didn’t want to go to the wasteland. They heard how many squires knights went through — they knew their odds, and they didn’t like them. Any excitement at the promotion was squashed under the crippling fear of what could come.

“I can’t go,” they abruptly spoke. They couldn’t help it. They had been talking about being a squire with their closest friend, and it just spilled out before they could stop it. With a newfound urgency, they grabbed the others arm. “I don’t want to go. I — I’m scared.”

They were panicking. In a blink, a thought hit them. A plan. The only way out, in their mind. And they spoke without thinking further.

“Break my leg.”