I stand amidst the fallen; the stillness of the field surrounds me. The sun draws close her veil of clouds, hiding her face from the carnage below.
The wind moans through the trees, a hollow, sorrowful sound, mourning the lost. The tall grass rustles, whispering the names of those around me.
In this moment, I pray: for relief, for release, for the spirits lingering here. I wipe my blades on the ground and reach for my resolve. The sounds of distant battle carry even here: there is still work to be done.
I bow to the fallen and move on.