Jonah and the men passed the clearing. Jonah felt sick to his stomach. Although it had become overgrown in the time since he’d been gone, the path was definitely still there. He recognized individual trees now. And then, there it was – the ruins of the old town wall. Time had eroded them down from their original height – time and fire. The stones were still charred black. He forced himself to keep moving forward. Staring around at the decimated, hollowed out shells of buildings, he realized some part of him had always hoped someone had survived, someone had rebuilt, that they all still lived today. But no * everything was as it had been abandoned that very night.
Skeletons of the homes of his friends and family. The main guardhouse, with a training yard in the back, where he had practiced every day with his men. Now only a few broken stones marking the old walls were left. And there, down the road, where the marketplace was set up – he remembered the sea of colorful awnings, the bustle of people. In the last days, it had begun to feel like a real city, reminiscent of Falador. People knew his name, would call out to him as he passed; they’d hand him food to try, wares to examine, a free cup of coffee or ale. Now, the open square was overgrown with weeds, the wooden stalls long since returned to the earth. Trees had sprouted, still young, only shoulder-height, but with time nature would reclaim this space fully. He could see the iron pole where the blacksmith’s sign once hung; now vines wrapped around it’s rusted form with blossoming pink flowers. It was all gone, untouched by man’s hand since that night. Nothing remained. Yet as he looked around, his memory overlaid his own images on top of the ruins, as if nothing had ever changed. He had to close his eyes, focus himself in the present, and force himself to see it for what it really was.
27-Jul-2013 15:29:26