Isaac grabbed his various belongings and stuffed them haphazardly into his satchel. His sundry survival tools fit well within the pack and allowed him to stow some stable food to fuel him in the road. He turned, slinging his pack as he did, and lay a hand on the door latch.

A firm touch made him pause and he looked around to look at Mary as she wrapped her arms around him. “Be careful out there,” she whispered into my ear, “I know I can’t dissuade you, but at least come home to me.”

“I promise.”

Isaac hefted his longbow and thumbed the latch, letting the daylight spill into the room as he swung it open.

Isaac stood over his slain foe, sword in hand, and looked around at the aftermath of the battle. Cries of agony floated across the charred and bloodstained landscape as some of the wounded pleaded for help or death. Isaac’s own cloak was splattered in blood and mud, a gash ran along his off-hand arm, oozing his own blood into the mix, and his buckler hung loosely from that hand.

He heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned just in time to deflect a blow with his sword and bring it around to slash at the exposed neck of the new enemy, nearly cleaving the head from their shoulders. Dazed, he looked around for where his army had advanced, but his disorientation left him directionless.

The battle was too evenly matched and fraught with mistakes on either side that both armies were decimated. The once level field was heaped with the slain as Isaac searched for a place to report, hoping that his commanders were still among the living. He tore a strip of cloth from his soiled cloak and bound his arm as best he could, walking breathlessly toward where he thought his command tent might be. The smoke hung thickly over the field, making Isaac navigate by mostly sound as he stumbled toward the louder clash of swords and shields and the cry of commands over the din.

A knight lay fallen in his path and Isaac stooped to strip the armor from the juggernaut, leaving behind his own simple helmet and mail in favor of the heavy plate before he rejoined the fray. Chaos reigned when he reached the battle, but with his new armor, he was able to help his allies rally against their attackers and drive them further back.

Mary stood in front of the open door and looked upon the battered visage of her husband standing before her in his new-old armor. He held the helmet under one arm to reveal his face with its sundry scars telling of his heroics during the camoaign. She threw her arms around his neck and they sunk to the floor together, their arms intertwined as the separation of years culminated in this one moment of reunion. Tears were shed as they sat in the doorway, caring not for the stares of passersby as they poured out their love upon each other.

“You came back,” she said softly through tears.

“I made a promise.”