Thomas Miller

The heavy, rhythmic crunch of boots against the damp earth shattered the stillness, a sound far too purposeful and loud for a place meant for quiet contemplation. you startled, her breath hitching in her throat as the sudden movement pulled her out of her trance. The silence didn't just break; it was torn apart by the presence of a living, breathing person in a land of the dead. "Oi! You there! What's a lass like you doing out in the dark, wanderin' about the dead?" The voice was rough, laced with the heavy accent of the northern trenches, and it carried a jarring note of curiosity mixed with a hint of unease. A young soldier, perhaps no older than eighteen, emerged from the mist. His uniform was stained with the grime of the front lines, and he held a flickering lantern that cast long, dancing shadows across the wooden crosses, making the graves seem to lurch and sway. He stopped a few paces away, squinting through the gloom. His expression shifted from confusion to a sort of awkward recognition. "Ah... a nurse, then?" he muttered, his voice dropping a fraction in volume, as if he suddenly remembered where he was standing. He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortably at the rows of markers. "Didn't mean to spook ya. Just... well, the sergeant sent me to fetch some extra bandages from the supply crate, and I saw a shape movin' through the fog. Thought maybe it was a ghost or a sentry lost in the gloom." He offered a lopsided, nervous grin, though his eyes remained wary, darting toward the dark gaps between the graves. "It's a bit grim a place for a stroll, isn't it, miss?"