Indistinct clanging and murmurs of whispered conversation fill the air. The normal camp sounds are at the same time both charged, and muted, in anticipation of the coming battle. Aiden sits in a trench, less affected than most, patching a hole in his issued socks.

"Does any one have a thread pick?" he asks to the few guys in his unit sitting nearby. "Thread pick, anybody? For picking out thread!"

Most ignore him. One tall red-head with a scar under his eye looks up from sharpening a short sword, and shakes his head. Aiden is unsure if the gesture is apologetic or judgemental.

"I've sewed the bottom of the sock to the top." He explains, trying to get his fellow conscripts to take a more active interest in his problem. "There's no way my foot is going to fit in it now."

"Be happy you have socks," says a corporal, "New recruits usually have to bring their own kit." He has his own sock off and is picking at the bottom of his foot with a knife.

"I don't even have feet." says a rough man leaning against a tree. This is called 'gas-lighting'. He clearly does have feet.

"I don't now how anyone can be happy about a sock he can't get his foot in." Aiden grumbles to himself. "If I knew the socks had holes, I never would have agreed to joining this stupid war."

He tries using his needle to pick the stitch out far enough to bite it.

"Why don't you use your sword?" asks the red head, standing up and stretching. He pulls a sword out of a sheath in his hand and starts practicing strikes with it.

"I don't have a sword." says Aiden, simply.

The corporal looks at him. "What do you fight with?"

"Right now I'm fighting with this damn stitch." Aiden says holding the sock up to him. It is a bit of a joke, but also, Aiden genuinely doesn't know what he is talking about.

"Where is your weapon?" the corporal clarifies.

"Weapon?" Aiden asks, "What do we need weapons for?"

The red-head looks at him dumbly, other people start listening in.

"This is a war, soldier!" yells the corporal, "The enemy is going to be here in a couple of hours. What do you think we are going to do with them? Knit socks?"

"No." says Aiden. Looking around. Eyes are on him. Hard eyes in rough grimy faces. Tough looking soldiers holding swords and pikes and axes. "But..."

"But what soldier?!?"

"I thought this was a pushing war."

"A pushing war?"

"Yeah. When they come, we line up down there by those lines," Aiden says pointing to some lines scratched out by the river. "Then when the referee says go, we try to push them over their line."

"Referee? You think a war has a referee?"

"Sure. I'm mean, we could just use the honour system, like in school, but I though this was going to be more official."

"And then what?" asks the Corporal. "Winner gets the pass. We lose and we just go happily back south."

"Well, not happily, but yeah." Aiden looks at the soldiers around him. They have started walking off. He was starting to realize that maybe his socks were not his biggest problem. "The recruiter said were joining up for the great Northern push..."

The corporal shakes his head.

"Maybe I'll just sit this first one out," says Aiden, "Just watch from the back, so I can learn the rules."