There was nothing one could do to wash away the sensation of a brother’s blood on his hands nor bid away the seeping mire which had plagued him from deep within those festering beasts. Unholy amalgamations with faces which bore recognition despite how they screamed amidst twisting putrid flesh. Of course their fallen would be used against them. Apparently it was far too much to hope that such souls may have found peace long ago. Thought which lay cemented in the depths of his cerebrum now, images unable to be forgotten. Each deserved better than that. Dear Coenwulf deserved more, as did those who were to be informed of grievous passing.

Honor would lace his tongue, the news given far steadier than he imagined might be possible and yet training bid such lyrics to fall. Coaxed them free in solemn tone meant to soothe and address beings far more worthy of tears. While a portion of what fled the paladin’s lips were nothing more than partial truths, in the end, it had been the damned who felled his friend. His family would be given time to collect what they wished to lay with him, inform any other who they saw fit to attend. A plot already secured far before this moon had breached the sky - likely by the morrow he would be buried.

Until then the cathedral would tend to his body while others readied the grave beneath the branches of that creeping willow. Just where those before him had intended to rest long before their own son did. Even thinking of it now brought a breath to fall unbidden, perhaps the church would not take notice of a prolonged absence. They would. Though surely none within would find fault, so long as one did not fall to the temptation which lay just beyond their walls. All could do without him for the evening. Besides, it wasn’t like he was out looking for trouble… just an ever fleeting moment of reprieve.

Drifting through the streets, his gaze could not help but be drawn to figures reunited; the happiness behind their eyes to contrast the mournful wails which had risen from so many upon the army’s return. Even now it carried upon the breeze, chased the steps of others who seemed to migrate toward less savory locales and even as his own sights lingered to the tavern familiar faces disappeared within. He refrained for the time. A man of the cloth should not imbibe too heavily, should not fall to the debauchery which would surely rise, nothing to seek repentance; even if that was the creeping notion seeking to consume him.