Emory's POV.
I sit outside on the pack house porch, enjoying the rare pleasure of the sun on my face, just watching life happen. The air carries the scent of pine and moss. The light breeze pulls gently at my hair. The sky is streaked with the golden glow of a new day.
The forest around me is calm, but bares the scars of the battles that took place here. They're a part of this place now, ingrained into the soil, the trees, the air. Much like the souls that were lost on these grounds.
We will remember them for generations to come - the forest won't let us forget. Just as it should be. They will live on in the stories that we tell to our children and grandchildren. Legends will be born from the songs that we sing. Heroes carved into our history through tales told around campfires shared b
