Yay, Trifecta! Time for stories, then. This week’s word is ‘dwell’, I thing I can work with that! I hope you enjoy it.
He remembered them. All of them. Their faces, their eyes, their screams. The warrior’s grey eyes betrayed no feeling, no emotion. He was the hero. The hero of the siege at Gildorn. They would look to him in the morning, to his banner they would rally. None knew. None knew the fight he fought each day, with the memories of his victims. His mail rent, his bracers torn, he stared down at the soldier at his feet. His armour too was torn, but his all gore crusted with blood. He eyes too, stared back at the warrior. The hero.
He knelt, soiling his girdle with the filth of war. The marks were lost amongst the stained leather. He took off his gauntlet, his glove, and tenderly closed his eyes. Who was he? A father? A son? A brother? A victim.
But it does not do to dwell. He turned to the city. To politics.