Guardian was resting off in a corner of the Roundtable Hold; arms crossed over the cold steel of his chest plate. His eyes were closed, as a look of concentration creased in his feathered brows. Unbeknownst to the other's around, Guardian was trapped in a haunting dream.

It was a familiar occurrence; Guardian found himself back on the battlefield, watching as his flock fell around him, slipping right through his talons. He could hear their voices, blaming him for his failures, as crimson waterfalls invaded his vision.

Guardian awoke with a jolt; a breath escaping his beak. His throat suddenly felt dry, and his feathers were fluffed from his thunderous heart. The Hold was cold, but his body felt all too hot in his secluded corner. Guardian only silently hoped no one had seen his distress- his weakness. He refused to let the other Nightfarers befall the same fate, and he desired nothing more than to be seen as reliable...

"..."