Slothing through the field, our swords meet, I stab the guy, his buddy eyes me, but it’s like, “Why?”, you know? Whatever, he’s dead. I don’t care. I doubt he does either. It’s like, yeah I get it we’re at war, but so what? He got me yesterday, I got him today. Colonel wants a body, I’ll give him one, but just don’t expect my heart to me in it. Least they could do is splurge on some new souls every once and a while. Sure, Egil’s dead, well, not moving, I guess, it’s more a moment than anything. Dead now awake in the morning. It’s…tedious I guess. Always thought it was supposed to be perfect and wonderful, spent all this time praising deeds and verses, and now what? Just another day in Valhalla, another night in Hel. The mead’s good, but when that’s the only mead you ever have. Even something horrid, when scarce, gets a sort of value. What I wouldn’t let bleed for a cone of Bjornson’s Ale. Disgusting, lacquered goat liver, but, to be able to feel again…