I wasted no time on the sadistic enjoyment of his body. He was dead, and I needed sleep.
My vengeance was close. Their death was at hand. I'd waited and planned for this moment for my whole life. All that remained was for me to drive them out.
And my people's home would be avenged.
For years I'd cried and wept over the ruins of the once great, safe, home, where my people had lived for countless generations and centuries. They'd learned, fought, loved, died, all here.
Here in this place.
Now it was in ruins. Destroyed by my enemy. In one day of darkness and destruction, the man who lay dead in the woods had helped to end countless lives, and crush the hope of countless more.
I was close to avenging it.
I stepped down the hill. A half-smile, half-sob came to my face, as I remembered all the summers spent here, safe. Safe.
No more. The great tree, a symbol of hope to many, now lay, splintered and broken. Burned.
At the foot of the hill, I could see the ruins. Thirty-odd buildings, once proud and strong, now littered the ground with their debris and ashes. Walls fallen, craters, stones at angles, all that was left of this place.
Further down, was the collapsed training ground. On my way to the place of safety, I stopped, in respect to all who'd trained here. Their skills rivaled those of the ancients.
Brought down. Killed. By the ones who I now sought to destroy.
I walked on. Past the fallen wood of the blue house, past the open, pillared dining area.
And to the cave.
Not even the inhabitant of this cave survived. The sole survivors were Calen and I. But the inside of this place was sufficient for my needs.
I lay on my cot. My knives I sharpened and polished, till they were pristine again. Then I slept. A dark, dreamless sleep. A restful one, which I needed for the coming day.
The coming day in which I would avenge my people and wipe out the remaining darkness in this place.
This place I called home.
