Gone. Gone. Gone.
And the Days Blur Into One
Days become weeks become time that simply passes.
All the houses have been raided. All the clothing that could be used dwindles to dirtied rags they have no water to clean with, no soda crystals to scrub them with. The Monastery might have some but no one can afford to leave the wounded too long, to expose themselves so openly as they make the trek up the main road or through the winding rubble of Abyss. Not with the beasts Edelgard had commanded out still roaming the forests.
Food gets rationed, fights break out.
("They only continue to attack because we stay here! We should just leave!" - "None of the wounded are in any condition to be moved, we can't leave! - "You can't, we can!" Murmurs broke out around the campfire and unsure glances began to be shared amongst everyone.)
Soon, groups are designated to go hunt. The few Knights left disagree, feel it's below their station.
It strains the tension even more.
Kagome keeps to the houses, shuffling from one to another until they all look the same. The ones that belonged to nobles may be bigger, hold more people but the small ones; the ones that belong to the common civilians are quieter, more peaceful. She likes the smaller ones and Cerlia tends to keep her company.
Keeps her from thinking too hard on where everyone has ended up or if they're still alive.
All the while, the world keeps going.
And as it does, there are more dead and less injured, more damage from wild beasts randomly wandering into the town, and less raids from Imperial soldiers. It tests the resolve of those who stuck around - or had no choice - to help the wounded. People slowly start to disappear, one or two, in the middle of the night.
Then they are just… gone.
The reserves go with them.
She stays. Her and Cerlia. They still have patients.
Then they're gone, too.
And then, so is Cerlia.
She falls with the few patients they still had, one fever spreading to the rest and taking them now that their supplies are so meager.
Kagome kneels next to a freshly dug grave, gently palming a pressed Iris. She fingers the thin edges, blankly staring forward. Cerlia is-was the only person who believed reinforcements would come, that all of this wasn't in vain. That everyone they couldn't save didn't die pointlessly.
For all her eyes burn and her vision blurs, the tears never manage to make it past her lashes. She lays the Iris onto the grave, softly scooping some dirt over it to bury it as well. Cerlia loved Irises, painted them on patient's bedsides, doodled them onto notes, scratched them into the dirt with twigs.
Her knees ache when she pushes off the ground but she doesn't fall and she doesn't look back as she hobbles over to the wagon to drag out the next body.
She even buries the Adrestian soldiers.
End.
As always, let me know if you see any mistakes and let me know what you think! Until next week!