Jamas nodded to his commander a bit excitedly, though he kept his face smooth. One would think that, having experienced battle before, he would be reluctant, but he knew that the hardest part of battle was waiting, and sometimes it was best to simply get on with it. He walked briskly over to the pile of weapons and crouched down, shifting them around a little, searching for a good, light buckler that wouldn't restrict his movement too much. After a few moments, he found it. About a foot or so longer then his forearm, good solid wood with iron reinforcements, and covered with stretched rawhide. He picked it up, slipping his left forearm through the loop and grabbing the handle firmly with his callused hand.
He turned around and exited the tent, standing near Jallas. Staring out in the direction of their enemy, he breathed deeply, concentrating on readying his mind for combat. His grip on his spear tightened, his teeth clenched, and his heart began beating faster. When the time came, he would be ready to kill.
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