Shinja Havoc slowly, slowly tries to get to an upright position. He struggles hard. Every single of his joints ache, including some he was sure he didn't even have. As soon as he raises his head, it feels like a supernova of headaches explodes inside his skull. He falls back down, onto his furs. As he notes, this is most likely in his commander's tent. This had to have been an hell of a night...
After another ten minutes, he has gotten up far enough to spy through the entrance. The sun is already setting. Shinja grunts and turns around to inspect the tent's inside for clues. It is how he remembers it, apart from a few empty bottles, and an already cold dish with bread, scrambled eggs and bacon on it, which he wolfs down hungrily. Searching a little longer, he finds his armor and gets dressed, finds the twin swords and their sheaths, affixes them to his belt and takes them out for a whirl... only to find himself cutting his fingers. That never happened to him until now. He decides to test his swordsmanship on a clay pot in one corner of the tent, but finds himself missing six slashes before cutting it only by chance.
Had he completely forgotten how to use these swords? That was impossible. What'd he tell the clansmen? He'd have to stay out of battle until he remembered how to fight, which could take a while. He'd be the sort of general he despised, the general who sat back and commandeered his troops from his tent.
Shinja took another look at one of the empty bottles, finding the label. Witchbane. Whoever had brewed that unholy contoction was due for punishment.
And after that, he'd inspect the battle. He was fairly sure he hadn't lost any strategist abilities.
Accompany troops to plains, inspect terrain.