If his armor was thick and heavy, it paled in comparison to the thickness of a troll’s hide. Even after receiving the two men's wordless response, he persisted in shattering the peaceful atmosphere. "Oh yes! Who was it prattling about their wife and daughter just now?"

"I did. I mentioned my wife and child." Though reluctant, Karl squared his shoulders to face the self-proclaimed commentator directly.

"YOU?! A stripling like YOU?!” The man's face contorted in exaggerated shock. "You're barely more than a boy, yet you've got both a wife AND a daughter!? By the Three Goddesses above!" He released his reins again, landing a heavy palm on Karl's shoulder, from which the latter found himself trapped in the man's boisterous embrace. "You're quite the stallion, aren't you! These young folk of Godma nowadays, always full of surprises! Hahaha!" His brown mare seized the opportunity to turn away, forcing his unwelcome hand from Karl's shoulder.

Karl shrugged as if trying to shed something foul from his armor. His tormentor guided his mount back alongside and continued, "Ah yes! We've been without so much as an introduction. I am Simon of Erslar. The pleasure is mine, truly. Now then, let's hear your noble titles."

Titles…? What titles? Does he mean our lands… if we still had any… Karl hesitated. How many years has it been since I last announced my full title to anyone?

While Karl remained trapped in the quagmire of memory, Taylor swiftly intervened, "I am Taylor, son of Terence. And this knight of similar years is Karl, son of Cornel."

Karl shot Taylor a look that could curdle milk, resenting the casual appropriation of his name and lineage. Simon, however, seemed unfazed. "Ha! He speaks for you," he said, eyeing Karl. "You two must be two peas in a pod!"

"Something like that," Karl muttered.

"Though I must confess, I'm unfamiliar with both your fathers' names." He offered a slight bow of apology. "For ones so young to march among the knights, surely you must be of noble blood. Pray tell, where do your holdings or families reside?"

His words cut deep. The memories he'd fought to bury came rushing back. I am noble-born, yes - but that was another life. Very well, let him know. What worse could come of it? The worst has already come and gone. Surrendering his resistance, he began to speak. "Our family's holdings lie in Morowe..."

"Stina, Simon of Erslar. Our holdings are in Stina." Taylor's voice cut through Karl's words like a blade, forcing them back down his throat. The interruption sparked Karl's anger, but before he could protest, understanding dawned. He’s covering for me. His companion's words carried hidden meaning.

"Stina! By the gods, Stina!" The commentator's excitement spilled forth like ale from a breached cask. "Though it sits just south of Godma's borders, Stina's a paradise of rolling hills and crystal streams!" He settled into his storyteller's posture. "I've had the pleasure myself. They say cross the Londe Mountains and you'll glimpse the sea. Official duties kept me from that view, mind you, but by the gods, the tavern wenches had waves enough of their own! Hahaha!" His voice swelled with each word. "And the food! I'd swear on all Three Goddesses, no roasted lamb in all the realms compares to Stina's! Every time I darkened a tavern door, I'd tell the barmaids, 'Only Stina's lamb legs rival your womanly charms!' Hahaha!"

The two knights had gradually edged their mounts away, though he remained oblivious to their retreat. His tale barreled toward its climax: "Speaking of Stina's scandals - surely you nobles must have heard! They say 'Skin-and-Bones' Leia, the governor's wife, has been dallying with 'Shorty' Pete the farmer, all because he sneaks bundles of roast lamb into her chamber on moonless nights! Though if you ask me, he's been stuffing more than lamb through that 'little hole,' or how else has he kept old 'Skin-and-Bones' so satisfied? What say you? Hahahaha... ah."

Simon finally registered their expressions and shifted uncomfortably. "Well... perhaps that tale doesn't suit your tastes. But tell me," he redirected, "why did Karl, son of Cornel, mention holdings in Morowe? What's that about?"

"That's our planned holiday destination, Simon," Karl seized the moment to speak. "I intend to take my wife and daughter there once this war ends." If it ever ends… and if I live to see it. His eyes clouded with sorrow. "I've been dwelling on those plans so much, it slipped from my tongue."

"Ah, a holiday! That explains Morowe." His eyes rekindled their gleam. "I wondered at that - after all, Morowe belonged to Floren before the 'Southern Strife' reduced it to ashes and ruin. When you claimed holdings there, I thought my ears had failed me. Nobles typically shun war-ravaged cities - Morowe's original aristocrats were either slaughtered or stripped to common status. But as a holiday spot, yes, that makes sense." He regarded Karl thoughtfully. "The views remain decent enough, and it's closer to the sea than Stina. Better still, the housing's dirt cheap - half what you'd pay elsewhere in Godma, whether buying or renting. The seaside wooden manors are worth considering, though they fetch a premium."

"Yes. That's precisely why I want to take Daisy and Emmy there, to lodge in those scorched wooden houses," Karl murmured, as if to himself. To remind myself of what I’ve lost.

Simon stroked his stubbled chin, seemingly deaf to Karl's words. "How fine it must be to spend your battlefield-earned glens on wife and child. While I can only spend mine on the bachelor soldiers beneath me, or on the fleshy bounty of tavern maids - front and back, they get their share! Hahahaha! Assuming, of course, those glens don't end up decorating my corpse." His boisterous laughter died, leaving a sudden, chilling silence in its wake.

I can't bear to speak of this anymore... Every mention of the past sets my mind ablaze with pain... Karl began breathing heavily, his left hand clutching his head. Taylor watched his companion with understanding eyes, for he too knew such anguish.

He, too, had tasted that terror.