The sun dropped.
Blood red sky changed to scarlet.
A little more time passed and the only light was the campfire, a happy patch on the black solitude.

When the journey started, the evenings were filled with laughter. Some told jokes. Men discussed where they were going and how far they had come. Ale was passed around and even Aldren would have a swig once in a while. Life, past, present, and future, happened.

They were in good spirits. Confidence.
Their purpose was clear.

But now, after watching the moon wax and wane, the campsite was quiet. The men took care to make as little noise as possible as there was little to make them speak. The yearning for home was evident in their dark eyes. Their bodies, which looked as if they had aged years, slumped as if they carried a heavy burden.

Grubs, who many called a friend, noticed the dwindling morale and had tried to revive it. At first, he would toss his arms around the shoulder of the men and sing bar songs loudly. But, shoving a mug in everyone’s hands and telling lewd jokes only offered a reprieve for a few nights.

Word of the dead baby had spread. At that point, Grubs’s attempts couldn’t even cause the men’s lips to twitch. While they waded through death, it didn’t feel personal. They had a glorious purpose and were being led by the dedicated Lord Aldren. Just because they hadn’t found any survivors didn’t mean that there wasn’t any. Life found a way. It always found a way.

But. the mutilated child bent something in the steel souled men. Their thoughts turned to their wives, daughters, and sons. What if, while they were gone, their families underwent the same gruesome fate as those they’ve gone to find. Sure, they hadn’t left the city completely undefended. There were some strong-armed men patrolling the borders and holding the gate. They had the blessings of Aldern and his God to keep shadows out and their love in.

However, despite the salt-soaked steel and holy blessings, the wood was worn. In some places, it was rotten. Useable wood had become scarce and woodworkers even more so. The ability to remake the iron holdings diminished as the crafters had left for better pay from smaller cities.

Without the substance of iron and wood, all that was left was words. Holy words, but just words.

Aldren, the earthly representation and follower of their God, went for days without parting his lips. Those close could barely hear him breathe.

Home was all the men could think.
It was all that they could hear in their hearts.
Another rising and setting of the sun and that is where they would finally return to.

Home.
Family.