Hey everyone, just a quick query here, not after an in-depth critique - but feel free if you want to. We recently had a conversation in GWD about changing tense in a scene, and it led me to an idea. I've done up a new version of the first scene in my book, and as part of it the character flashes back on memories of a battle just been. The scene shifts from 3rd-person to 1st-person past - where he recounts the scene - and then back to 3rd again. I use italics to show the shift. Just wanted people's impressions on if the idea works or not. Thanks *** The sword sank halfway in the snow. Nolan rested his head against it, and breathed heavily. The warmth of the power crystal seeped into his hand as his fingers grasped the hilt tightly. Too late he realised his eyes were closed. Memories flashed before his mind, and their screams. He heard it all again. I remembered pulling my sword free of the body and struggling to my feet, and gazing out across the pass. There were bodies, as far as I could see, both friend and foe. Unimaginable, I’d thought at the time. ‘Fall back, fall back! To the wall!’ I'd heard, no idea who spoke, but at the time I didn’t care; I had followed along all the same. I remembered Jordie falling in beside me and saying, ‘This is a good day to live, is it not?’ I’d thought, how could he possibly joke at a time like this? But that thought had been pushed aside when the arrow took Jordie in the back. I remember the shock on his face, how his mouth fell open in surprise as he fell to the ground. Once I was done panicking, I’d tried to drag him to the wall, pulling him along by the arms, until Varren found me. His words haunt me still. ‘He’s dead, Nolan, you can do no more for him.’ I remember him tearing my hands from Jordie. I also remember the sword that struck him down, remembered how he stared in my eyes as he fell to his knees. I remember watching the life go out in his eyes, and how I’d screamed like a baby and ran. Nolan started at the hand on his shoulder, and scrambled away on his backside, in a desperate attempt to get as far from the hand as he could. He stared at it, the thick gloved hand staying in mid-air, where he’d left it. His eyes slowly drifted up the arm that belonged to the hand, until they rested on a man’s face, old and wizened – with a thick beard that blended in with the fur cloak covering him. Nolan knew he should recognise that face, but he couldn’t think – the memories of the battle clouded his mind. The man crouched beside him. ‘Just breathe, Nolan, and the shock will pass.’ Nolan didn't breathe, only stared - he couldn’t manage anything else. ‘Commander Orevalin,’ a voice called, echoing from the wall. ‘The first time is always the worst.’ The man patted his shoulder. Is he trying to be comforting? It didn’t work. With a sigh, the man got to his feet and left him.