The sky was crowded with clouds, the little light that fell through was bitter. The fingers of sunlight, of warmth and love, were shielded from us.
An icy wind licked at our necks and bit at our bare skin. Roused early from our beds, we trudged along our paths, narrow rocky roads which seemed to never come to an end. I shivered under my clothes, glancing up through the grey half-light to see our shepards, faceless in their black cloaks upon their great throne of horses, appearing like dark dragons as they spouted their misty smoke in the cold, as they yelled and shouted, and drove us onwards. We were like pigs being led to slaughter and we knew it.
Our feet ached, the stones beneath them felt like thorns. No one complained, not a word was spoken.
Around us, the cold beauty of great mountainsides, backs of giants rose as our walls. I was earlier told that these were the F'aelian Peaks, but at the moment it seemed not to matter. They wore their snowy white caps and were draped in clothes of grey to match all the surrounding, appearing more like chilled prison walls more than anything. From the sky now floated the first snowflakes, a sign of the even harder winter weather to come. Even the gods seemed to spit on us.
Looking around me, many of the faces were strange and unfamiliar, but they were all filled with pain and fear, sadness and gloom. Some were old, near too old to walk, and some held baby children in their arms. We were tied together by our common agony, our same loss.
Where we were herded? We knew not. Would we even survive to see our desitination? There was an agreed doubt. What would occur when we arrived--death, enprisonment, slavery? It was all the result of a failed war, and all we were aware of was that we had now entered dark days.
I only wished to escape to my dreams. For we all knew as long as we lived there would be no escape in reality.