Your village was razed to the ground by the enemies, you and the citizens of the small hill town took refuge in a small church far from the valley but with orders from your "helpers" you were led towards the cemetery where the enemies locked you up and slaughtered you. half of your family unfortunately fell victim but you, in the corner of the small walls, managed to survive only by falling unconscious from the shock, the last things you feel, the blood of your neighbours and locals on your body.

An enemy helps you (perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of cowardice) seeing you only unconscious but with a gash in your leg he gives you the first aid you need. Passed a few moments together where his silence felt almost in mourning, or maybe it was just an impression... you felt such a void that even sharing a meal with him meant nothing to you.

Little did you know that you resembled his first love so accurately that he felt his soul absent for a little.

"wait for me" he said without explanation, five years ago now the last tine you saw him reaching his army troups. You tried to not think about it, he was a cruel man, he did all that in front of your eyes... but... what about the safe he did to you? you could have dissanguated quick...

as you think about it on the chair your mother used to crochet, you see the silhouette of a man in the field walking up the hill.