At the very top of the spires, two people sat around a fire. Their cover was the skies, and their blanket the stars. Isaac comfortably, with a simple shirt and loose fitting pants while Ria wore a dress. The wind blew strong in the middle of the night but it was of little concern.
Holding a bowl of onion soup, they looked into the far distance, Ria's eyes looking farther, into the past as she prepared herself to tell a story.
Once there was a little girl who wandered the battlefield wobbling as she carried a medical box clearly too big for her little body.
She was an Orphan, a remnant of war that had been waged for so long. Her father was a soldier who died in battle, her mother died from an untreated injury.