Colm surveyed the scene before him. Beneath a darkened and drizzling sky, mist swirled over the bodies. So many bodies. Their forces had won. They whooped and shouted, moving among the fallen. They removed their valuables, picking the carcass of a dead army clean. Colm felt sick to his stomach.

“I made a mistake,” he said.

“But we won,” Síofra said.

“Did we? Look at what I have caused.”

Síofra looked out across the fields. The brave warriors from her side we elated and celebrating on top of crumpled bundles that were once brave warriors from the other side. The stench of blood and guts hung in the fog. Gone were the bring sparks and clangs of metal striking metal. Victors systematically ended muffled cries and moans at the point of a sword. Silence descended. It was a horrible, horrible sight.

“I so believed in what we stood for, what I stood for, that I lost sight of the carnage that would result. It was stupid pride. My vain, stupid, stupid pride.”

He turned and looked down at her. “I will forever be called upon to right this wrong, to make up for the blood on my hands, to replace the lost.”

Slowly at first, he began walking. Now he strode with more determination and speed. He walked not toward the battlefield or to the celebration of commanding lines. He walked toward the water and the breeze that blew in his face.

“I won’t return to here.” he said. “Once I leave, I won’t set another foot upon this place I love so. I cannot fix this. The damage is already done. But I can atone for my mistake. I can pay for what I have destroyed. You can come with me if but I know your place is here. We will see each other again.”

With that, he kept walking. Síofra paused and then found she wasn’t following him. He walked toward the sun, toward the waters, toward a future that would take him from his beloved home.