. . .

He moves on.

Vaenwode watches from an outcropping as the army of the dead marches past. They are numberless. It appalls him. He thinks for a moment of reforming himself; of redeeming himself; of becoming a different Vaenwode, a Vaenwode who does other things and does not do this. Then one of the dead captains looks up at him. It grins at him. It is proprietary. It is certain.

Vaenwode swallows.

The captain goes back to giving marching orders. His soldiers continue forward. Vaenwode plans his way.

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