Vaughn
Night is here and the moon is on my left.
Hundreds of us are spread outside the palace's premises, our faces well illuminated by the shifting light of a bright bonfire set up in the middle of the field where the battle had just taken place.
Everywhere smells of wood smoke.
It is barely few hours after the war and we're here partying.
I keep questioning myself if this is right. People have died. I mean it hasn't even been long since the royal military evacuated these bodies from the field. The enemies' carcasses were carted away for mass burial at the boundary and the bodies of our fallen soldiers are still being prepared for proper burial at the Field of the Brave. Many foxes have been rendered fatherless and husband-less because of that war.
Yet we are here drinking wine, cra
