I left Sween standing at the crossroads, gripping the wooden sword in a sweaty hand. I hated not being able to fight. I hated that my brothers were going off in honour without me. But I wasn't the old, brooding Whittle any more. Those days were in the past and I saw only hopeful prospects ahead. I would miss Garten and Wilfred, but I still had Mum and Da. And Vicca.

And Sween.

It was only Sween that I thought of as I trudged off toward the forest, where my training equipment was ready.

Branches whipped at my arms as I fought my way through the brush. I could've taken the path, but I didn't want to. The path wound past Ansel's Hollow and that place was on my mind far too much already.

When I finally broke through into the wide, rectangular field that stretched to the treeline nearly a mile west. I'd spent countless hours here as a child, playing in the tall grass with my siblings. But now, I used it for another reason, to train and learn.

A wooden wolf stood alone, its pumpkin head carved with a menacing scowl. I stared at it for a long time, contemplating my thoughts and feelings, before lashing out and crushing the shell of the pumpkin with my sword.

I spun, hitting it again, and the two halves fell to the ground. I stepped back, breathing hard, and examining my work. The strike was good, I decided. Perfect if it had been a real sword.

"That was the sorriest excuse for a slice that I ever saw!"

I turned, scanning the treeline for the source of the mockery. My eyes lit upon a black form melting out of the dark forest. A black rabbit, green eyes bright with life and scorn, stalked toward me, hands deep in his coat pocket.

"Who are you?" I asked, pivoting the sword on him.

He kept moving forward, wrenching the sword from my hand and pushing me back. "Don't tempt me, or you'll end up a pile of fur in the dust." The rabbit scowled at the wooden sword and tossed it aside. "The name's Helmer, Helmer the Black."

Helmer drew his sword and I stumbled back, groping around on the ground for a rock or stick.

Helmer nodded. "I'd take that rock over there if I were you. The jagged one. Everything can be used to defend, everything is your armour." His lit up, and a smirk spread across his face. "Everything is a weapon."

He turned away from me and examined the wooden wolf and the pumpkin. "Good set up." He peered at me out of the corner of his eye. "The pumpkin's a nice touch."

"Y-yeah," I mumbled. "I thought it would help with my-"

"Training? You need more than training, buck, if you're ever going to amount to anything. No, for that you'd need surgery. And a better sword." Helmer crossed his arms. "Now, spill it."

"Spill what?"

"Who's the doe? I can tell when a buck's got it bad in the heart. Most soldiers with a doe in mind are the sloppiest you'll ever see. Others, well," Helmer kicked the severed pumpkin, "they fight like dying isn't an option. Which one are you?"

Whittle hung his head. "Probably the first."

"Of course you are," Helmer barked, slapping the top of Whittle's head. Whittle rubbed his ears. "But that's not what you'll always be, not if you 'fess up to her and move on with it."

Whittle shuddered. "I don't think I'm that brave."

"A soldier who isn't brave in the safety of his own warren isn't a soldier at all. You have to face yourself before you'll ever face a wolf or bird of prey. Sometimes, you won't know which is the more formidable enemy." Helmer crossed his arms. "And I promise, buck, that you will never get into my army until you-"

Whittle looked up. "Your army? Who are you?"

Helmer rolled his eyes. "Helmer, Helmer the Black, Lord Captain of King Jupiter's army. Your brother," he poked Whittle in the chest, "is one of my lieutenants."

Whittle blinked. "He just left today. How can he be a lieutenant already?"

"Well, when you have a small army those who sign up first get special perks, such as food, water, and/or high positions," Helmer smirked at Whittle's half confused, half anxious expression, "all of which your brothers qualify for. Maybe you too, one day, if you promise me this..."

"What?"

Helmer spun his sword around and handed it to Whittle by the hilt. "Promise me you'll tell her. Swear it on your honour!"

Whittle looked from the blade to Helmer's solemn expression. He took the hilt, swinging the sword in an arc at the wooden wolf. It fell to the ground with two thuds. "I swear it, Lord Captain Helmer. I swear it on my honour!"

Helmer patted my shoulder. "You'll be a soldier, yet, my buck!"

With that, he turned and disappeared into the forest, black fur blending in with the shadows. I gripped the sword hilt, feeling the blade vibrating from its last strike.

I knew what I had to do.

Dedicated to @Dikko-the-Squolf! Here's your #alwaysHelmer!

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