Visitors aren't rare in our little village; might I ask your name?"
"I'm Julius Haggard," said he, "-looks like the war's done its fair share of hurt around these parts."
"Yeah, I suppose," said the young man, "-I'm El, the nephew of the village leader. My jobs to see who comes in and comes out. I guess I failed," the heaviness weight on his tongue, the slowed speech, the destitute demeanor, muffled cries, and coughs. Nothing felt right, "-can I pay my respects?" asked he kindly.
"Sure," nodded the nephew, "-go on inside, they wouldn't mind."
"I appreciate it," he reached the little room overlooking outside. Shoes off, he stepped inside with a cat-like silence, those watching over the bodies were open-minded and nodded as a way to say '-hi'. Portraits of the fallen rested atop chairs, the lady of the house secluded herself in the corner stained by the horrors.
