I faintly recalled our original march was filled with the dour grumbles of tired soldiers dragging their feet, complaining about how sweat clung to their padded armour despite the morning cold. I certainly sympathised with the lot but there was no way I would have voiced any of it. Instead, I looked forward, following whichever way Erefiel’s path led me. In contrast, the way back from the front lines was no longer filled with the sound of grousing men, but rather a suffocating silence as damp boots trudged over mud.
