Chapter 48: A lullaby for the lost
The villagers, working alongside Thornefang, began the grim task of clearing the battlefield. They moved the dead with stiff arms and pale faces, gathering whatever gear, weapons, or scraps of armor could still be salvaged.
They moved in silence, burdened by the grim task and the stench of blood-soaked earth. Thornefang guided the process with efficiency, but there was no joy in their movements, only the necessity of it.
They chose a clearing beyond the village’s edge for the pyres.
Lucen looked at the faces of the fallen enemies, well, the ones that still had faces. Many of them were simply teens around Milos’s age. They were a little older than he, still, children nonetheless. Only a few that could be seen would be considered adults.
’It was either them or us... I know that in my head, I accepted it already, but my heart can’t help but ache... I don’t know much about them, but I guess they were forced into this. Surely, if they’d had a choice, none of them would have chosen to die nameless, so far from home.’
Lucen watched as the bodies were stacked with as much respect as could be afforded, and oil was poured over the heaps.
’That b*stard Viscount Drenwick, making children who had no choice in the matter do his dirty work.’ Lucen’s jaw tightened as he clenched his fist.
A single torch lit the first fire. Then another. Soon, the flames were roaring, sending thick, dark smoke curling into the spring sky.
There was no more distinction between the nameless fangs and the bloodhounds. They were now piled together in the same fire, burning away.
Once the flames dimmed and only embers remained, the ash was left to cool. Later, what bones remained were carefully gathered and buried in a shallow trench.
Lucen placed a single sword into the earth where they had been laid to rest. It was chipped and bloodstained, taken from one of the fallen. It would serve as a grave marker. A small sign that they had once stood and fought.