We were proud, off to battle, for our rightous cause...

Our clan was marching to battle in all its regalia, colors and men and horses, off to battle the English. As we neared the next town, the one on the road to Glasgow, the entire town was in flames already, the English had been there and set it aflame to change our route.
Forced to take a westerly route, we immediately met their entire forces just outside.
We faced them across a battlefield of land they had ruined, turned into a swampy morass to slow us and confuse us.
I had this gut feeling, deep and sick, that I had been to this battle before, but I felt like previously we had one, in glory.
"Something's different this time," I thought to myself. I was gripped with fear. I was afraid.
The cry went up and we rushed across the battlefield, and my fear gripped me as I swung at each English that came near, but I kept my distance out of cowardice.
Then one came close to my left and i felt a blow to my left arm, below the elbow. I could tell immediately that my arm was off, but to think about it or recognize it in my mind would end my life and my battle. It was out of my mind, and I battled fiercely without thought or fear, chopping down every enemy I could, knowing I might die any time now.
Then something bumped my stumped arm and I looked up to see something huge and fierce...

Then Shane said, "Are you ok? You looked like you were having a bad dream." as he laid a hand on my left arm.

Yah, I was having a bad dream. You can say that... Yeah.

I felt like I saw a little piece of my death.

Right now I don't want to sleep again.