Roran trudged up the hill. He stopped and looked at the sun, eyes narrowed behind his messy hair. Roran: Five hours until sunset. I can’t stay for long. With a sigh, he continued along the row of elm trees, each standing in its own lake of uncut grass. It was his first visit to the farm since he, Horst, and five other men from Carvahall had removed everything worth saving from the ruined house and burned-out barn. It had been nearly five months before he could muster the courage to return. When he reached the top of the hill, he paused and folded his arms. Before him was the remains of his childhood home. One corner of the house still stood- weathered and sooty -but the rest had been torn down and was already covered in grass and weeds. Roran clenched one fist, his jaw muscles working painfully as he tried to suppress a mixture of rage and grief. He stood there for several minutes, a shiver running through him every time a pleasant memory surfaced. "The earth is quite special. Take good care of it, and it will take good care of you. Not many things can do that," his father, Garrow, had often told him.

Now... Now all of that was gone.