Shy Deer Steppes Nobody's soldier

Somehow I doubt that. she replies in a somber cadence, before willing her eyes to tear away.

Her leg strained through the march, tendrils of liquid fire wrapped like gnarled roots around her joints; pushing on despite it, all for the sake of others who were already beyond saving. She pushed on because she resented it. At least now they passed by the field of bodies the floodwaters had spat out.

Synder didn't have much faith, no gods or commandments, only superstitions repeated a hundred times. Unburied souls would roam forever, trapped between borders of life and death. Nowadays, she knew there was no difference between being buried in the dirt, or being devoured by scavengers; either way, you were returned.

One certainly had more dignity, though.

She tried to quicken her pace despite the futility, and halted abruptly as the limb locked itself, biting back the strain on her tongue.