~smiles at the interaction between the men of my home~
I see much in the three of you that is Harold, and much that is Kamchak, and none that is Kutaituchik (thankfully, for that one had given up on life and was only waiting to die well). In every battle against one of the other Tribes, I see a bit of the charge against the Paravacci; in every raid, a bit of the attack of Turian tarnsmen; in every visit to Turia, just a bit of that seige of old. In the sense of family within my home, I know what it means to share dirt and grass, even if I cannot do such a thing as a slave.
And I see much that is, simply, Gorean. A love of life and beauty; a frankness and honesty of emotion; a decisciveness of action, whether right or wrong; and a touch of the Ubar within the sweep of each man's own sword (or quiva, as the case may be), one which has little to do with rank and much to do with courage in battle.
I love my home.