One hundred yards or so from where Cameron ran, a man stood still, watching him. His forehead was creased with a million wrinkles, caused both from worry at the terrible things he watched people and things suffer from, and also from smiles, at watching his son grow up with laughter in his heart.

The man watched his son’s feet move across the ground like wind itself, not stomping, not even really touching the ground. Not really. He moved with the grace of a bird. He was flying. He was soaring. He was laughing. The wrinkles in the man’s face deepened, as he imagined his son’s reaction when he realized there was to be a war. His face was worn, and tired from battle preparations, but his eyes shone clear. The sight of his son laughing gave him strength.