By IMERPUS RELUR
--
The battlefield had no corpses.
Only dust.
Each grain once a soldier.
Each breeze a memory.
Imer walked barefoot.
> The dust clung to him like guilt.
Like prayer.
He kneeled.
Scooped a handful.
And listened.
They were still screaming.
But not in pain.
In longing.
For peace that never came.