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Inish
Inish… Dagonet called them. And inish they were... Though they were flesh and blood, Gawain and his brother-in arms never heard them before they unleashed hell.
Their footsteps were light and fast, their skin cold and blue, they appeared and disappeared as quickly as the fog when it fell on the fort. And with them they brought fear. And death. They were ghosts.
He hated them for it.
The fog was heavy, too heavy. All Gawain could see was a white curtain he wanted to claw at and the faint shadows of the mocking trees he wanted to challenge. Wainting... he was fed up with waiting...
They were here. They had to be. And Gawain, as his brothers-in-arms, was waiting for them.
Waiting for death.