The wind was freshening, whipping across the open plain with a bite that tasted of coming rain, but Vilon barely felt the chill.
His father had always said that after a battle, a man needed only two things: wine to sate his thirst and a woman to sate his bloodlust.
Vilon wanted neither.At that moment he wanted only for death's kiss.
It had been a great battle, and he slain enemy after enemy. The loot had been good too and he had seen heroes rise in the field where so many men fell.He knew people would sing of this. Of this battle as much as they would sing of the Prince of Yarzat and the lord of Epietoli.
It was a bloody battle, indeed. But he desired now neither wine nor woman.
All he craved was a hole deep enough to bury himself in, far from the stench of the dead. For two years, since the day he had lowered his father into the earth, he had convinced himself he was alone.
How foolish he had been. He hadn't been alone. Not until today.
