The Post Dawn Morning

Shafts of post-dawn light penetrated the thick canopy of the evergreen forest.
A light fog hung gently over the ground as the morning dew burned off.

Nearby, an old stone church stood a stoic guard over the small cemetary behind it. Its windows were cracked or shattered, its great oaken door lay open upon a single hinge. Inside, broken pews lay strewn about among fallen candles and old books.

As the sun rose slowly from its slumber, a few shafts of light drifted over the face of the church's lone occupant. The man's hair shielded his eyes from the soft glare. He slept soundly, his body leaned back against the church altar.

It was the song of a mourning dove that awoke the man. His eyes shot open as the wailing cry echoed through the cathedral. It befit the scene that unfolded before him.

The broken bodies of armored men lay a few feet away. Their chestplates, once a work of art of the mighty Church, now lay ripped open. The bearers' chests were likewise ripped apart. Other bodies were otherwise whole, silenced only by the small holes that perferated their necks or faces. One body lay with its skull pinned to the floor, a rapier pierced through the eye socket.

The man that laid against the altar pulled in a shuttering breath. He felt as if he hadn't breathed in ages. The air filled his lungs with the sweet scent of evergreen mixed with old blood and sweat. He nearly gagged, but held it in until the feeling passed. As he looked around, his mind in a jumble of confusion, his hand brushed against something soft.

A young woman laid beside him, face down. She had long black hair streaked with gray, and she wore black and red clothes. The cloth was torn in several areas, bright red cuts showing through. That didn't feel right to the man, and he sat there confused, gazing upon the poor woman's body. What happened? Who was she?

He moved to stand up, but a shock of pain shot through his chest and he leaned back against the altar. He looked down, and saw a large bite mark against his chest. His leather armor lay open, its straps undone. The armor itself look beaten and cut in some areas. Other than the bite mark though, he was fine. Even the pain of the bite seemed to be ebbing away.

He unconsiously reached over to grab his sword, and that's when he remembered what happened. The images swept into his mind, replaying the scene from the night before like an old nightmare.

The man screamed in agony. He turned around and punched the side of the altar repeatedly in frustration and sadness, and broke three knuckles. Then, finally, he bent his head and body over the broken altar, and wept.

"My Lord, why?" And he wept until his mind and body couldn't take much more, and he fell asleep once again.