“Are you awake?” A voice of tin queries.

I'm surprised when my own voice sounding hollow and far replies, “Where?”

A lab coat answers my question,” Last Stop Field hospital son, those soldiers dragged you back.” and continues to scrawl something on his clipboard.

“Oak?” Did my voice always sound this week?

“Fine. Hearing loss just like yourself but one infusion injection seemed to fix it.” He sets the clipboard at the end of the bed.

Pushing my back to the bedframe i rise to look at the man's face. Greying hair, glasses, dark bags under his eyes framed by pale skin, the very picture of a overworked doctor.

“Am I fit to leave?”

Letting out a long breath.” Fit? No. Allowed? Yes, bed space is very limited so please do.”

Alright? Guess it's time for me to leave. The doctor was kind enough to lend me so pants, so I at least could have some dignity when leaving. My body is covered in bandages, back tight with stitches and my left hand is simply a bandaged mess. Wonderful.

The sun outside, as it generally is in the desert, is relentless. Having no clue where to go or report to, I simply walk back to the tents that Oak, Joseph, Robert, and me set up. I'm surprised to see two of the former. I wave towards them.

“Where’s Robert?”

“Dead, turns out the area between the Last Stop and East Outpost wasn't nearly as safe as our routes.”

Joseph snorts, “Yeah, ours were so~~ safe.”

Oak responds with a shrug. “Alive with all four limbs is pretty damned good.”

Sitting next to both of them I stare at Robert’s tent. I look toward Joseph, he doesn't look to bothered. I thought for a while i was going to have to pretend I cared. Good thing I don't. A question rises to my lips.

“So, was yesterday a… victory?”

“Well we confirmed they have a necromancer, lost almost two thousand troops, protected the railway thankfully, but lost two out of the three outposts, and round it out by getting a Brigade as reinforcements meaning soon we’ll have three times as many men as we began with. The enemy on the other hand cannot replace any of the resources they have lost in a timely manner.” Oak scratches his head.

I nod, “Good thing we have the logistics to outlast them.”

Joseph snarks, “Great! We’re just flesh for the meat grinder!”

What a pessimistic way to view things.

Our side of the camp is silent. We no longer speak about the conflict. I understand that the Wordsmith would never get us involved in a losing battle. I do question Joseph’s piety though, but honestly, he plays his role in this war and doesn't complain too often. It can be forgiven.

Oak gets out his harmonica and play Hickory’s tune. Knowing the song’s origins has made it somewhat easier to listen to ad nauseum. It's somewhat comforting hearing the same song every day, but it makes me wonder what is going through Oak’s mind.

The chugging of a train wakes me from my stupor. It's longer than one I've ever seen arrive before. The doors slide open and hundreds of soldiers disembark. In one day we’ve already replace all our losses and double our forces. Tomorrow the same thing will happen if deliveries go on schedule.

Someone by the train yells,” Can I get a camp Postman!”

All three of us mumble and grumble, I raise my hand to signal the others that I've got it. I go into my tent and quickly change into a more presentable outfit then being bare chested.

I jog over to the middle aged with the immaculately groom mustache.

I shout, “At your service sir!” and salute to the man.

“A bit late.” He’s got a posh urban accent; this man comes from wealth. “Here are the new orders, deliver them with all necessary haste.”

He hands me a satchel which I strap to my chest.

“Yes sir!” I drop my salute and sprint towards the command tent. An out of breath Postman is a punctual one.

Saluting the men standing guard they pull open the tent.

Inside stands Lieutenant General Hadrian and a much younger blonde man who stands talking with him.

“Postman delivery Lieutenant General.” I slide off the satchel and hand it to a nearby aide.

Hadrian turns to look at me, his eyes evaluate my frame and a small scowl appears.

“Your injured. Why couldn't the brigade’s Postman take care of this.” he looks to the man he was talking to earlier, “Colonel Oberfell?”

Oh, the blonde must be the leader of the new brigade then.

Colonel Oberfell addresses me with a nod and responds, “My Postman are still weary from getting the train organized.”

The man has the same posh accent as the other man, this whole brigade must have been founded in one of the richer areas. It is the duty of the privileged to help defend the weak. A zealous group then.

Lieutenant General Hadrian looks unconvinced his grey mustache rising in contempt

“My Postman, were just recently involved in a battle and heavily injured. All of them.” He grits his teeth at the Colonel,” So I hope next time your Postman can get OF THEIR LAZY ASSES AND DO THEIR JOB! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!”

“Yes, Lieutenant General sir!” confirms the browbeaten Colonel.

The Lieutenant General tsks and opens the satchel, finding various maps and folders. He signals for an aide to unroll a map and post it against the table, he himself opens a folder and skims through.

“Look like it's your lucky day Colonel.”

“Sir?”

Hadrian gestures to the folder in hand, “You and I get to lead the very first assault ever into the Beastkin lands. The Wordsmith has spoken.”

Colonel Oberfell fails to hide his smile, “The Wordsmith is surely great and wise to include me in this endeavor! This bring glory to my house and country!”

“I am sure of it.” Responds Hadrian, “We will push all the way into the Forest of Broken Exodus. The initial assault will begin within the next two weeks.”

The Colonel bows in the fashion of the city bourgeois,” I feel as if we will do great work together Lieutenant General Hadrian.”

“Yes, I am sure of it. Colonel, Postman you are dismissed. The day is your own.”

A quick salute and I leave the building. Outside, I see only Oak still by the tents. He plays his harmonica.

“Joseph?”

Lowering his harmonica, “Went for a walk.” scratching his head in concentration, “ I think Robert’s death bothered him more then he let on.”

“Probably.”

Oak picks back up playing, the song remains the same, Hickory’s song. Its notes tinge of familiarity and comfort. The frosty nights of the desert when we would train. So long had we prepared for days like these, but still... Robert’s life was taken easier than a pull of a trigger.

How much of our survival was pure luck? Was the Wordsmith protecting us? Who else will die before all of this is over?

A deep baritone voice brings me from my thoughts

“Good job today kid.”

“Thanks, I wouldn't have made it without your help.”

Oak chuckles, “Damn straight. Seems like you're hearing is fine.”

“What?”

“SEEMS YOUR HE…” Oak sees my smile,” Did you just make a joke?”

His response is met by my chuckling.

Oak smiles, but it quickly runs away from his face. He rolls the harmonica between his hands while he sighs deeply.

“Do you trust me kid?”

That statement hardly leads to good places.

“Yeah I guess. No one's done nearly as much for me as you have. So i’d have to say yes.” It's true, mostly.

Oak’s intense gaze forces my eyes to the ground.

“What was in that message Slate?”

I can't answer that, he knows that. Fucker pushing me into a corner, ‘do you trust me?’ guilting me with his fucking mind games. Hell, he’ll now soon enough.

I can't keep a growl from my voice.

“We are to advance. The forests, we are to advance into the forest.”

Slate lowers his gaze, hopefully ashamed.

“Sorry for doing you like that kid.”

He doesn't really care.

Oak rises to his feet; a few choice words leave his lips as he departs to his tent.

“I'm glad you trust me. I swear I’ll get you through this, it just… it won't end how you want it to.”

The sincerity catches me off guard. What in the Wordsmith did any of that mean, I don't even know how I want things to end.

I walk back to my tent; a lot is on my mind. Joseph is standing by its entrance. The curly headed blonde gestures for me to go inside. I do so.

The scarred cheeks of Joseph's face puff as he strings together a sentence in his mind.

“He saved you, uhm, Oak I mean.” he ponders an expression, but it flees from his face. “You got knocked out pretty far from the exit. Shit, I didn't even notice you weren't there. He went back, not a thought in his mind for himself, just went back.”

He begins to chuckle awkwardly.

“Wordsmith knows he wouldn't do that for me. I just…” another complicated expression, “I just wanted you to know.”

A dull ache strikes my heart, this whole thing reminds me of Leon. That fucking dog beastman they had at my orphanage. I can't recall a time anyone had done anything for me since him. What did I do for Leon? Nothing but watch as he was bled dry.

I'm not to blame though, the Wordsmith gave him a purpose. It doesn't matter at the end because Leon was nothing but an animal, a pet! Right! Right. Right? Pathetic...I can't even give him the courtesy of calling him my friend. I can't even admit how much he meant to me.

“Leave joseph.”

He looks confused but understanding. Weak that's all that man will ever be, weak. Who am I really talking about? Joseph or me?

The soft shifting of the sands by Joseph footsteps accents my every thought, every memory rising to the forefront of my mind.

I thought I was over it all.

I guess I wasn't.