The clashing of armour haunts me to no end. Men yelling, arrows flinging, the smell of blood and fresh dirt. Promotion, demotion, loss of a limb, ostracised by community. Ceremonies, funerals and plagues. Graves and crosses as far as the eye can see - though the one who should see them sits far above them. Night, footsteps, light. Trails of a thought dissipates as the light consumed the darkness. One alone cannot sway heart or mind. This casualty would cause more casualties for a unforeseen future. Blurring of colours, fading to reveal a cross. Fear...?  No. It's just the cycle.