New Challenge: Potluck Bingo
Sit down to a delicious selection of prompts served on bingo boards, created by the SWG community.
Of all the hurts he had faced of late, there was naught he could say to his brother in arms now.
‘There is no use for words,’ his friend would grumble, stringing his bow after he usually had retrieved any useable arrows left on the battlefield. This time there had been no time for that. Often, he had wondered what would go through his mind when he fletched the arrows anew. Would he spend any thoughts on those he had slain? Their training of so long ago had not allowed for it. Knowing his friend all too well: he would stick to the strict regime for his own sanity.
It was different now and it was not because of the ongoing mourning around them for comrades lost in this final battle. Neither was it because of the ultimate betrayal all had witnessed, either directly or by tales. Nay, no words could ease the hurts. Quietly he rose to his feet and stretched out his hand to his friend of old.
‘Come, let us return home. There is naught we can do here anymore.’
Beleg Cuthalion’s eyes met his, tears briefly shortly brimmed. Of course, he would say that the pain came from the wound he took in his leg.
‘Aye. Their last stand failed; we must see to our own realm now.’ He spoke as he clutched Mablung’s hand to stand. ‘As ever we stand strong, together.’
‘We will stand beside each other, back to back when pressured.’ Mablung nodded as he tried to ignore the chill that crept over him.
Mablung watched how his tall friend slung his bow casually over his shoulder and made way to the forest line. With no arrows left: the only defence would be him with his great axe. This did not bode well.