The Butcher's Field

In the cacophony of battle, he had been separated from familiar faces. The howls of the butcher’s field had fallen dim. He dimly remembered a Cavalier from the battle: middle aged, handsome and plump with faint grey in her brown hair; she extracted the spine from his shoulder and conducted to patch his wound. Few living things remained in this part of the battlefield, the living had rejoined battle if able. He reloaded without thinking. The dawning understanding that it was done, combined with the bone deep weariness, hit him like a hammer. Stumbling from exhaustion, he made for camp.