Someone Else's Kingdom, BOOK II - Scene XCIII

Prince Estorie looked tall and graceful. His bloodied armour still bright in the dark of war. The Brynnyfirdians had somehow managed, with the help of these few Tunidans, to push back the flood of forces advancing across the island. Now, as they strolled through the scene of earlier battles, they prepared for another onslaught.

Box trailed in the rear. Her loose arrows had been only a minor use in the wild tumult. Trying to pick off opponents from the forest canopy, as the crush of battle played out in the greater open before her. She replayed the action in her mind, unsure if a single shot had made its target. The forest felt strangely quiet in the aftermath. The stillness, even of the leaves, unsettling in its chill. Finally, she spotted Colm, who looked increasingly tired and worn by the feud. She headed over, cat-like, to tag along and listen to the conversation. The plans for the next assault; whether. and where, they would make encampment; and the inevitable re-advance of the mainland forces, relentless in their number.

As her little paws followed through the wet sludge she couldn't help but notice the multitude of bodies dotted throughout the woodland. Brynnyfirdians and mainland fighters alike, but mainly Brynnyfirdians. Their ragged, boggy frames and porcelain faces. Slumped or mangled carelessly in the earth. Some so precious and intact that they seemed to be in a soft and gentle sleep, others just brown and bloody carcasses, neither animal nor man. She felt cold to it now, but anticipated the horror it would cause her dreams. She compared the dead to the green trees still living. The vivid difference between life and death stark in its depiction.

At this point her eyes were then turned by the arrival of the King of Tunid, who cut through the brush to seek counsel with his tall son. Like Colm, he too looked weathered by the battle. Tired, more ancient. Hanging on to life. His blood stained sword lank and aching by his side. He looked barely a king, just a man. Another soul out in merciless nature. Prince Estorie looked flush in comparison. His bright youth unrelenting in the grim situation. As Box observed this radiance she noted another radiant figure lying on the ground, partially obscured by weeds and bushes. The pale body perfect, except for a large blade wound in the torso. She instinctively walked over. It was Essen. His expired blood-less physique in a puddle beneath the forest scrub.

Colm and the others followed her curious lead, and looked down at the unmistakable figure. It was a hallowing image. Only silence could meet the vision. A solemn, sound-less bell tolled in the broken clearing.

..Then the storm whipped up, and another rush of war and sludge came roving in.