Silent night

It is completely silent in camp tonight. Only the slightest tussle of the leaves breaks the silence.

I can't sleep. 

My sleeplessness has two reasons, one being that tomorrow I shall see my father for the first time in many years. Part of me is worried he will not recognise the boy who went to war from the man who has returned. Tomorrow I will step into the middle of my home and I hope it will not have changed so much that I will not recognise it.

I remember my father as a gentle man for the most part, except when he would fly into rage and temper often becoming moody and silent for days at a time. 

I remember him as lawful and compassionate. His council was sort after for many things by the people on his land, a regular Solomon to the people.

I remember him handing me my first bow, telling me to practice, scowling when the sight of blood made my personal servant turn green. 

I remember him teaching me to use a sword. His startled scared eyes flickering when I got under his guard for the first time and the cut of his blade on my shoulder when I let the triumph make me arrogant. I remember the one handed hugs he would give when I had done something that pleased him. The way I wouldn't flatten my hair for it was making him happy that had messed it up.

I hope he won't blame me for Little Red accompanying us. And I hope he will approve of the two Johns.

Most of all I am nervous that I still feel like a boy in comparison to his years. But I hope that he will not treat me as such. 

The second reason for my sleeplessness is the silence.  

I have found that now, despite my moaning and complaining, I cannot sleep without the sound of Big Johns bear like snores.

The absence of sound means that he is awake. I hardly think he would have learnt finally to sleep on his side after so many years off not doing so. It has been so quiet that you could assume he is not in his bed at all. After the last few days we have had it would not surprise me if he had gone for a walk in the dark. I am tempted to get up and check but with night now at odds with morning it would be silly to waste the hours of rest I could have on a man that can take care of himself... 

Still, John is a good friend. One I could not do without. I should see what has caused him to be so wakeful. It can't be because I pinched a cake earlier in the day, he did retaliate and called me fat which stung for a while. We had come to the clearing we are camped in then and I had looked at all of us. None of us are so over fed that we are fat, but all of us are content with the food we have. That is due to a team effort I hunt the little John usually prepares whatever I have caught and big John usually cooks with  advice from Little Red. Little red normally gathers nuts or berries of some description, so between us all we are content. The pheasant that we had today went down nicely even if it was a little charred on the outside.

I shall leave him be. And hope that in the morning the promise of land good food an a hot bath will put him in a less tempestuous mood.