By late afternoon that same day, a small gathering of missmatched individuals await listlessly for the arrival of the news they so desperately want to hear.
From up on the hilltop, the view of my kingdom is a peculiar sight. A maze of forges and weaponries that have sprung up in the streets overnight. And the towns are now littered with wings and fangs that are barely lit by the golden flames cast by the angels that are bottles in the lamposts. But up here, the tinker and clash of hammers has become all but a distant throb of noise, drowned out by the whistle of the wind and the blustery motion of the leaves on the trees.
It is, oddly, serene.
