quiet clouds

I don't know why I didn't go home once I'd severed my alliance with the Princess. We both could have gone, me and my constant companion, and enjoyed the safety and comfort of my estate; instead, once the thaw came, we wandered. It seemed that everywhere we went, the war had left chaos and instability in its wake: deserters who became bandits who became warlords here, a corrupt magistrate taking advantage of the chaos to line his pockets there. Sometimes they welcomed us, sometimes they drove us away. We helped where we could. When we couldn't find work, we foraged for food; when the imperial highways started to fill with soldiers we left the roads behind.

We were tired, we were hungry, and we were putting our lives at risk, and even when we were able to help, it felt so small. So often it felt like we were at best buying them time, that everything we did--driving off the warlords, exposing the magistrates--would simply lead to a temporary power vacuum. And we could hardly stay and prevent someone else from returning.

It became harder as we traveled to pay attention to anything but the road ahead of us. I knew that we were in a mountain valley and had even stopped to admire some of the views when my companion pointed them out, but my eyes remained fixed on the trail, and all the sounds of the wilds faded to nothing but the dull tread of my boots.

My companion had stopped, and I wearily asked what the problem was. She simply gestured upwards. A beautiful set of quiet clouds had formed above the mountains, drifting through the sky and along the slopes as I watched.

"I'll make camp," she told me.

I found a fallen log to sit on and just watched the clouds. Somewhere out there, the war was ravaging even more lands, but there were still quiet, beautiful moments out there, and for a moment I was able to convince myself that maybe the reason I was still wandering was so I could find them.