A ragged boot halted atop darkened foliage, the breeze brushed away the unsettled leaves and blew softly against the harsh material.
Its partner landed alongside - to stand before the unmarked graves.
The night was heavy, and the air was silent.
The 14 mounds of dirt were laid out neatly in front of the young woman; a row of innocent youngsters that had been lost in all of the madness the ground had brought to them.
The trees swayed and complained with age, the shroud of darkness surrounded her, trapping her in with her guilt.
Her knees threw themselves hard against the dirt, the fabric tired and thick with filth.
The stars beamed overhead, negligent of the woman's torture.
The once sweet scent of the forest turned sickly in her anguish, reminding her of all that had been done.
All that she had done.
All that had been done to her people.
All that had been done to her...
Her head fell limply into the palms of her hands, blonde hair concealed the wetness pouring through her blood-stained fingers as she let out a tormented screech - It's echo reverberating throughout the woodland.
A few miles away an encampment was alight with activity, the rhythmical beat of drums thundered through the darkness as grounders roared with their victory.
A fire blazed in the centre of the jubilation, surrounded by large well-structured tents.
The Commander watched indifferently from the door of her living space, as her people chanted in triumph.
Her throat tight, she clenched her jaw in raw distaste and turned into her quarters, dropping the damp cloth behind her to shield her from the scene.
She continued into the candle lit room, approaching a poorly crafted desk she grasped hold of a dirty bottle and began pouring its contents into a nearby goblet. The sounds from outside blasted all around her.
Her head pulsed and her jaw ached as she clenched ever harder.
Her stomach churned and a sharp pain shot through her chest.
The bottle dropped, tipping the goblet with it, and they crashed to the floor together, sending alcohol and glass shattering around her legs.
She flung her hands out flat against the wood, head hanging low between her shoulders.
Sickness? No.
Guilt? No.
Such feelings she had pushed down for so long; now bubbled and bled inside her.
Weakness.
Exhaustion.
Pain.
Anger vibrated behind her flesh, her arms shivered beneath her weight.
All that she had done.
All that had been done to her people.
All that had been done to her...
She let out an almighty howl, the pressure building from deep within her lungs.
The noise of the surrounding festivities completely muffled her grief.