This world we live in – it’s a horrid place, forsaken by God and His Saints.
The rumours about peasants conspiring against Knyaz Skender proved to be true. I could see them from my hut as they travelled to Shrike’s Crag. Some of them even approached my home, asked me to join their cause. I said ‘no’ and they cursed my cowardice. They were right. But I was right, too.
I watched it from afar. It was a slaughter. Knyaz’s soldiers didn’t come here to ask the rebels to lay down their weapons, no pardon was given that day. They marched on and cut down everyone.
And the few survivors? God. I could hear their screams for hours. The smell of blood and death hung in the air for days.
I’ll never leave my home. I’m not interested in a world in which such nightmares become reality. Maybe the next one will be better.