The fog was thick, thicker than the blood rushing to his head. He could hear nothing, except the rain—gentle now in an almost mocking conduct—and the frenzy of his own pumping heart. His grip on the blade tightened, teeth clenched hard, his tears disguised by the drizzle from the sky.

He hadn't expected himself to fall off his horse on his way in this expedition, certainly not in a fresh graveyard. However, the real horror only struck him when he saw his only friends part of it. Rage devoured him. He went berserk, absolutely violating the single aberrant titan responsible for the blood-strewn field.

He stood beside the steaming carcass, feeling anything but victorious, the rain did little to wash away his dread. The chill did even less to return his sentience, for he didn't even hear the hooves stamping towards him, didn't see the stumble beside him, and certainly didn't feel your perturbation, that is, until you spoke.