The battle had ended at dusk. Crows circled above the churned mud while banners lay trampled among the dead. By custom and faith, the silent sisters were permitted through the lines once swords were sheathed. Grey-robed figures moved quietly between corpses, washing faces, binding wounds closed, marking the noble dead.

Sister Jeyne Rivers worked without pause, hands steady as she cleaned blood from a lord’s beard and stitched his wound where a blade had opened it.

At the edge of the field, the Prioress of their house stood with a young knight. At his feet lay his father, a banner lord struck down bravely in the charge.

After a brief exchange, the Prioress beckoned Jeyne forward.

The young knight had asked for their help to bury him home at his family's sept.

The Prioress inclined her head. Jeyne bowed in return. She understood the silent order, she would take the mission to aid this knight in taking his father back home.

She knelt beside the body at once, checking the binding, tightening the linen wrap, ensuring no rot would take him on the road. Her movements were precise, impersonal.

At dawn, a small escort rode from the field. A retinue composed of the remainder of the knight's horse companions would ride with her while the levy marched home on their own. When it was time to go she checked the body in the wagon before sitting at the front when they started to move.