A frown worked it's way upon his pale face. Catalina coloured eyes narrowed, sympathy and sorrow written upon them should anyone look and notice. They had come back, again. Through their walls, only a slight amount left, and only a couple able to walk their horses properly. People walking up, looking for their loved ones, and waiting. Waiting to see them, hopefully.
All he could do was sit upon the large wall, looking down at the small, ant-like figures. Watch the blood covered cloaks whip in the wind, torn and ripped. The wings on the backs of humans were torn. Shredded beyond belief, and no longer trustworthy as when they had been the first time.
The first time anyone had bothered to leave the walls again.
The people down there... He couldn't understand them. Not the civilians, nor the soldiers. Not the dead, nor the living. There was no distinction between them, anymore. After a while the feeling of trying to notice a friend left. It was no longer, to some, who was alive. Rather, a feeling always thrust upon his chest that he could not understand. Anyone worth mentioning was dead. Dead until seen, alive only if seen.
So much weeping. Even if one did not know a person, the civilians cried. Did he have no tears to shed? No hope for the dead to be useful? Was he just that bad?
He didn't understand. Not a bit. Everyday there was a chance. Not a chance of life, anymore. He no longer held the trust to keep the thought. There was always the chance that someone he knew died. They would never come back, never be a hero, never die with any thought. They would be forgotten, and that was the end of it.
Live with hopes of not dying. Die with hopes you helped. Be forgotten with no such mercy given.
He supposed that he shouldn't complain. But, what better to do than that? He couldn't understand their situations. Never.
Perhaps he was only another civilian afraid of going out. There was no perhaps, the reminder came. He was only afraid. Fear gripped him, holding tightly, cutting off any breath that could have been used to show courage. Courage to help more than this.
Pitiful. He was absolutely pitiful.
Preaching and preaching about how useless they were. Yet he had the guts to stay on a wall, safer than them, while they got themselves killed. What right did he have to do such? None.
Blaming it on not understanding was a move only made to settle the conflict. It would truly bite him in the ass.
A scream from down below. More screaming. The sound of shame was as evident as the third toll of the bell. The crowd angry, and beaten. Not with physical violence, never. They were not there to witness the deaths of their loved ones. They did not fight. They did not help. Yet even so, they had more right than he did to scream. To cry out.
What right did he have? None.
