<Sometimes wars happen beneath our notice>

Field of Battle

Silence.

The fog muffles even the faint sounds of the dying.
Two armies met on this field,
No quarter asked nor given.
Limbs lie scattered,
Bodies torn apart.
Somewhere, in the distance,
Survivors remove their fallen comrades.

At one point, foes meet again;
So alike, the Northern clad in black,
The Southern in red;
But the smells of the dead
Discourage further conflict.
No ground was won this day,
The sides too evenly matched.
Both towers remain,
Both Queens are sheltered,

Until a new generation is born.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Chronos, in the year 382 AF.