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There was silence, except for the soft crunching of leather clad heels grinding upon the cobblestones of the Castrum. Wind stirred the ever present mist, and tugged at matted hair, and tattered clothing. Feet dangled, and the bodies gently swayed to the croaking call of the crows.
Their faces were hidden within burlap, or blackened and unrecognizable in death, but she knew them all the same. Perhaps it was the clothing- signature to the individuals because they possessed nothing else, or it was the color and length of hair, or maybe just a sixth sense of recognition. Not all of them, by any means- but some. Enough. Not all of them good people, even. But some. Enough.
Simple people with nothing left to lose. Gullible souls, perhaps, in need of a little food, a little hope. Grasping at both, and losing it all. Knees cracked painfully but unfelt to the cobblestones, and hands rose to cover a face in torment as the swirling mists plastered already rain soaked ginger hair to her forehead.
She knew them.
And she wept.
Their faces were hidden within burlap, or blackened and unrecognizable in death, but she knew them all the same. Perhaps it was the clothing- signature to the individuals because they possessed nothing else, or it was the color and length of hair, or maybe just a sixth sense of recognition. Not all of them, by any means- but some. Enough. Not all of them good people, even. But some. Enough.
Simple people with nothing left to lose. Gullible souls, perhaps, in need of a little food, a little hope. Grasping at both, and losing it all. Knees cracked painfully but unfelt to the cobblestones, and hands rose to cover a face in torment as the swirling mists plastered already rain soaked ginger hair to her forehead.
She knew them.
And she wept.
