The two of them stared at him, frowns written on their faces. It wasn't something that the Oliver Patrick that they knew would ever admit to. He certainly did not look tired. He was not heaving in heaviness of breath, or the like. The only evidence of his tiredness was likely the injured state of his left hand, and of all the mud and blood that he had accumulated over the course of the battle.
They allowed him his rest, as Oliver continued to look around him, immensely curious. He saw Prince Hendrick leading a charge with Fitzer, following on from the charge that Oliver had started, adding to that tide of men. It was a river now, built up in the heart of the battlefield. It continued to flow and batter away at the rock in front of it even without any sort of command being issued from Oliver. Now, nearly ten thousand men were involved in its efforts.
"KING PATRICK!" Prince Hendrick saluted as he galloped past him. Oliver nodded in reply.
