8th Month, 209 AC

When he was a child there had been a hunting accident in which one of Coldlight's famed hunting hounds had broken one of it's legs. Myles' father had loved that hound through it's entire hunting career. At least up until that moment.

"There's no use in a dog with a limp. Not that it will survive that long anyway."

Those words had echoed in an endless loop within Myles' mind the past two months. Even after so much time had passed he couldn't bear to look at where his right arm used to be. Every part of life was different now. He could not dress himself, he could not walk properly without stumbling or pressing himself up against a wall. The maester from the Wolfsden had called him stumpy and that image of himself had hurt but a stump would have been preferable to a blank space where his good arm used to be.

He'd spent most of his time sat in bed, mourning his loss. Rumours of the war had come and gone but he had yet to put it all together for the conclusion. It didn't matter any more. None of it did. There was nothing to do but wait to die at this point. He'd brushed against death and though he left with the ability to keep living there was no longer a reason to do so.

Ultimately there was not only a void at his arm but also within his heart. How could he father sons, teach them to ride, show them how to joust and hold a hammer? The answer was simple in that he couldn't do so.

That didn't mean that the Knight could walk into the ocean yet though. He had a duty to fulfill and people to talk to.