[Genesis]

The bulletin on the board spoke of tragedies two dozen miles away from town.

Fifty-two lost in collateral, the Order advances against Atrellyan effort, it sings.
The marsh has frozen over, our horses refuse to cross on through.
That day, I went to bed thinking of the number, with a stomach only half full and clinging to my mom's rosary.

Father woke us in a rush, and I stared through the window.
The fires burnt so brightly then, I remember it clearly.
When men and beasts turned the midnight sky to morrow half a night early, and the purple palls turned orange and grey.

That was the last evening that I saw anyone or anything that I knew before that day.
We ran across the marsh and hid in the hut, but they stayed outside.

They raged over, those creatures. They did what — in my youth — I thought was unthinkable.
I'll not forget the silhouettes of my neighbors, standing outside in the afternoon...
red mist sprayed on the rime not long after.

I prayed.
I remember praying through every second of it.
The smoke threatened to sneak into my lungs, and the door nearly caved to the bashing.
I was next, so I found myself at large through the back, and past the barn before it collapsed.

After my panic no longer strangled me, and a whole day of hunger and cold, I crawled back.
The orange hues of war had vanished, and so had every last building in the village.
I didn't find my parents, I found charcoal.
We were collateral.

Where were you?