It feels as if there are eyes watching. It feels like they are peering up from the charred fields by the road. Their footsteps echo on the hard-packed dirt; the footsteps of an army long since departed. The fire raged through the field, burning the village’s one means of payment. Of this village, not one had lived.
Far in the distance a red light glows. In the distance another village is burning. In the distance They are rejoicing with a feast. Another village has fallen. How many more are left? How many more must die?
Oooh, spooky.
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