The Carnage and the Silence

The carrion lay in small mounds and little divots

Across the creeks and dangling in bushes waving in the wind as eerie puppets with open mouthed grins controlled by devils and and evil Lords

The King sits astride his steed


He stares across the open grave

It remains silent, as only a graveyard can

The breeze, the dead, the King and his steed

His steed reads his mind and gently, carefully picks his way across the field knowing where to go fully aware of the gravity of the moment

The King simply sits and allows himself to view every body before him. He allows the gravity of the decisions he made to sink deeply into his sinew and bones. He learns by his mistakes. He accepts wisdom with gratitude if it means even one could be saved.

The Steed lifts each hoof delicately, he checks where to step, being sure it is clear of death, disease and sorrow.

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