The walk back to Greenfield was a beautiful dream. The forest they had fought through, once a tangled nightmare of thorns and hate, was now a paradise reborn. The air was clean, filled with the scent of blooming flowers. The golden ash from the cleansing fire still covered the ground in places.
New life was everywhere. Bright green shoots poked through the ash, and the trees that had been skeletal claws were now covered in fuzz of new leaves.
As they got close to the edge of the woods, a man dressed in the leather of a militia scout suddenly came from the trees ahead. He saw them, his eyes getting big. He dropped his rifle, turned, and ran back towards town, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"They're back! They're back! The Saint is back!"
