James Watts and the defense of his soul

[krimsondaddy]

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[krimsondaddy]

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[krimsondaddy]

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[krimsondaddy]

*By my lack of writing skills. All that fallows shall be account gathered by third Parties*

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I have seen fire, and fire is what they said I shall see. Boy, did I underestimate that statement when the Battle Captain briefed his men at the camp. All of us on some level expected such, I suppose, and fought back our own fears and childish imaginations. Hell, looking around most of these men seem to hold such things locked away in the tales of old. Fables if you will. No one ever thought that the stories they heard in the taverns and barracks were true. However, it seems we were wrong, and the Battle Captain was right. Dead right.

I remember thinking back over such as we tended to the wounded. I lay there next to the man that had warned us. His eyes had taken on a glassy thickness, and his pupils seemed to withdraw deeper into his skull. Perhaps they still felt pain, but maybe it is because he had not blinked for hours. Hell, I wonder what my own looked like at this point. I rubbed my own eyes, then reached across his charred chest that smelled faintly of fatty bacon and burning hemp cordage, and laid a hand across his eyes. If only I could just get his eyes to close, I would feel better. Looking around the outpost...can I still call it that? Lets go with camp. Looking over the camp I try to gather our loses. It's hard to gauge who is dead or dying, and who is still able. I decided that if they are dragging wounded or pilfering the dead's belongings for supplies, I would say those men will still fight when they must. The others, however...the ones tending to their own wounds because others have decided their lost, and the ones slipped away in the cold night were the ones taken from our roster in the last battle. There were many.

I'm going to stop saying battle, just as I have decided that I can not call our makeshift casualty point an outpost. What it was, was a massacre. What is to come? Well, that will be a last stand no matter our numbers. It will not be one sung by bards or written in some tome as you are reading from now. Because when the darkness comes again, I am sure my brothers will all die.

So why fight then? I should just sit here I thought, as I removed my hand from the officer's forehead and see his eyelids have refused to close as I had hoped.

"Damn ol' Bastard wont give up. Even in death." I said.
"Its okay Sir. You may close your eyes. I have your watch. You do not need to see the mountains burn any longer"

I removed my hand again, and see no matter my efforts his eyes refuse to close. My temper starts to raise at this point. I know it seems foolish, or even disrespectful to be angry at the dead. I just had to be mad something, I guess. I have heard in tales from the elders of great heroes that laid shut the eyes of their rivals or friends. I do not know why his eyes have a mind of their own. Is he judging me still? Is he trying to tell me something from beyond? I sit there and waited there for some time. Lost in my own thoughts, as I stared at his rebellious sight. No answer came to me. No last words of encouragement. So I stood and decided to gather the men, and prepare for what's to come.