Shy Deer Steppes Nobody's soldier

They carried on further through the wastes, where the land itself began to change and shift into something far more grim. Even the sky itself clouded over with dark, rolling clouds, a funeral veil for each soul they passed by. Cold reality felt like ice in her throat, and the urgency with which she'd carried herself before turned to a slower, wary pace. Floodwaters had carried all these bodies from the red mountains that laid ahead

Her hope waned, but was not extinguished, she kept her ears sharp for any struggled breaths, or muted calls for help, but all that broke the still silence was the sound of their own steps as they walked through this mass grave. None of them have been put to rest. She murmurs, pausing for only a moment before carrying on. The death of a community, and none were left to bury them.

It was not that Synder had never seen death, before. She saw it when it came mercifully, and when it came cruelly all the same.

But it was still death, something profoundly sad. She stopped, still in her tracks as her eyes caught the the clouded gaze of a young girl, the fear of her last moments etched permenently onto her features.

And on they continued, marching through a valley of ghosts.