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After his outburst, Hilderinc turned back to his work, trying to collect himself. Slowly, the cold, reasonable part of him, trained by years, came back. He was once again thinking soberly. What was this nonsense about? he said to himself. How could I have let myself to act so stupidly? So childishly? Don't I know better? Did I not just talk about maturity? And look at how I acted!
Now probably the most embarassing thing he felt about this outburst was that it caught him unawares – he had thought that he had managed to gain control over himself, that he had mastered his actions with the cold reasoning of his own mind. This was a shock, perhaps a hint that there was still some small, hidden part of his old self that he could not master – and that thought itself was a terror to him. Since the end of the War, he had been living the life of a mercenary, a simple soldier, caring only about his immediate orders, keeping his mind on simple things here and now. This had also managed to keep him feeling safe, knowing that he would not unleash from his memory anything he wanted to forget. Even now, as he mastered himself, he forced himself to cease thinking about the subject – feeling somewhere deep inside the fear that starting to follow but one thread of this thinking could lead him too far.
He turned to listen to the other men, finding out that the subject of their discussion was not any better for him if he tried to forget about the time of the Great War. He could not help, however, but to be impressed by Crabannan's account of his experiences. Long time ago, he had asked Crabannan if he was a Woodman, he did not get an answer back then, but whatever Crabannan was, it was clear now that this man came from afar and had seen much more of the world than Hilderinc ever would. There was something in Crabannan, indeed, that reminded Hilderinc of himself – perhaps it was the likely shared experience of wishing to leave something behind. Perhaps it was the horrors of the War, perhaps it was something else. But what seemed peculiar to Hilderinc was Crabannan's proclaimed loyalty to the Mark.
"As I've said, this is none of my concern. In the end, you could all run this Emnet into the ground and I'd be none the worse for it. But I care not least because I lost several pints of blood on this stupid, flat patch of earth."
"Why did you, then?" he said aloud, raising his head. "You did not really answer Nydfara's question, either. You are a stranger, yet you admit fighting for – as you say - Rohan... What made you lose these, as you say, pints of blood for this land? What ideals did you follow? What did you see – or what did you think you saw – that made you fight for it?"
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