returning home.

Wim watched as Sir Zane walked away to get control of the situation.
"Well, that is that," he said after watching and listening. His tone was one of finality.

Now, this place would become fit for business. With meager, but proper defenses and some defenders. The cost was too high for what would be gained and the losses were preventable. But he understood that it was also a show of trust in the Clan and their leaders. Sir Zane would use it as a bargaining chip and the Clan would counter with their slaves that were lost. Sir Zane would gain a little firmer ground to bring troops in.

The bone bruises throbbed with a pain greater than a toothache and set his mood to be foul. He rose from Tarmen and the others and still using the broken spear, he hobbled out of the mine to the well. He poured buckets of water on himself washing off the stink and the dust.

The stress and lack of sleep came upon him like weights and his demons wasted no time in starting to torment him.
"No one cares what you think! You are just wasting your time. The place would be ripe for business when there were defenses and guards. The raids would continue. The war would be fought," all rushed through his thoughts.

He laid down by the fire. He tried to pray to any of the gods, but they were not going to answer him. So he let sleep come upon him. Tomorrow, he would head back with the wounded.