This is the first lull we have had in battle since we started out over a week ago.
My companions seem, for the most part, tireless; fuelled by adrenaline, cold anger and possibly even hatred. We have camped each night, but out there in the valley as we fought our way on towards our goal; that being those evil towers.
I have walked with them, fought alongside them to a lesser degree, and been on hand each step of the way to offer aid to any who find themselves hurt. Luckily, we have had no casualties and, for the most part, few real injuries although there have been many bruises, scrapes and I have had to utilise my needle on more than one occasion. Still, even with such wounds as they have recieved, they have refused to be swayed from their course.
Each night we have sentries posted around our small campsite. Each night they rotate on three shifts. Even I have taken my turn more than once. The others have fallen asleep as soon as they lay down their weary heads and aching bones.
It is brutal out here. It is bloody. The rock floor becomes slippery with the life fluids of those we face and our own, the fine grit dust churned to thick red muck that clings to our boots and clothes. The corpses pile up around us, littering our path. The stench of them is terrible, but there is respite in the darker hours. The wargs and beaked beasts that plague this area come scavenging for meat late at night, content to leave us be when there are richer and easier pickings amongst the dead.
For all that, we have been forced to turn back a few miles short of the towers. Violet, one of the archers, has taken a deep blow to his leg and cannot stand on his own. He argued that I should simply stitch him and he should be placed atop a horse from which to shoot his bow, but the others would have none of it. They have lost brothers-in-arms before and are not willing to risk him so stupidly. Instead, they escorted he and I back to our initial camp. He is to rest and I am to remain by his side in order to keep his wound clean and well-tended. Of course, I am also here for his protection as well, but I know not how well I will do at such a task.
The others rested the night only and now they have once more gone out. I can hear the battle in the distance, the clashing of blades, the shouting of orders, yelps of the creatures and worse, but I cannot see them anymore. The sound carries well between these barren rock walls, but the vision is limited by the haze. I worry for them. I worry that they will need me, that they will succumb to their weariness or the sheer number of those ranged against them. I worry that I will not see them again.
I am too exhausted to go on. I must sleep whilst I can.
