14. drabble: Erech
Terror rises in the bitter wind that wraps shredded grave goods across our faces, the taste of ash cloying in the mouth, choking in the back of the throat.
Why ride on to destruction when we might surrender here, bodies dissolving, souls scattered on a storm that howls with the mouths of the dishonorable dead.
But the darkness is no match for the power concealed in the black banner of the king.
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