There were no good news from the south, only bad news. A list of names was sent back to the tribe from the battlefield at intervals; each name representing a dead Desolate Man warrior.
The Desolate were simple and yet determined, similar in the ways of the Tangs. They could stay silent, but would not become despondent, no matter the difficulties they faced. Even if the situation was harsh, the women would still hum songs while washing and hunting.
As time passed, the situation in the south grew more and more desperate. The intervals between each list, and the length of those lists grew longer and longer. The old, the weak and the women left behind in the tribe did not have the mood to sing anymore. The entire plains grew quieter and the atmosphere grew more and more repressive with every passing night. One could hear the vague sounds of people crying. Even the strongest Desolate woman could not help but feel sorrowful when she saw the name of her son on the list.
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