Scribble: Battle no more, ye weary traveler.

      Worn, weary, her armor dented and broken, she stood, gazing out over the golden fields before her. Her auburn hair dancing in the breeze, the knight pulled the tatters of her cloak ever tighter, unwilling, or far too afraid, to release her grip on the chipped, streaked blade clenched in her hand. Above her head, wooden branches, yet to be barren of their leaves, creaked with the wind's gentle footsteps, as unseen birds escaped to safer homes.
      In the distance, clouds began to part, as the golden fields shimmered in the coming light. Far off in the distance, the barking of farming dogs ushered-in the new day, heralds to the sounds of sickles and scythes soon to come.
      A single tear rolled down her scarred and sun-kissed cheek. Home, she thought, a weak smile slipping onto her face.
      The battered sword fell to the ground, a sharp metal clang drowned-out by the new day's birth...