Severed limbs and broken body parts lay strewn in random patterns about the bloody dirt, the calling card of malevolent butchery. The cool gaze of the mercenary met the scene in silence, the faint twinge of a frown staining his features. It didn't have to be this way, the enemy could have retreated, could have recognized their greater skill, but it was not to be. Turning away from the killing field the warrior moved on to more pressing concerns, for the first time acknowledging the tragedy ahead. His frown only worsened into a scowl, mood made even worse by the recognition of Maria's disheveled appearance and of the body she cradled in her arms. Her muffled sobs and nigh-inaudible words gave away the situation, the death of a sister, the burial of yet another body. 

Tiny droplets of clear water splattered against the dirt, first in a light drizzle, then, as it grew, into a rising torrent. The dirt turned to mud, ponds forming in the boot-prints of the previous combatants. Another life wasted in the pursuit of some contradictory goal, it was something he'd seen before. Closing his eyes, the mercenary thought back to former days, times long past when the pain of heartache was still fresh upon his soul, the memory of fallen comrades was close enough to feel. Such a fleeting sensation and in that moment he remembered why he'd become the way he had. Why he'd forsworn material attachments and lived only for his own ambition and survival. Emotional ties lead to tragedies like this one, to misfortunes all to real and imminent, better to view the world with unending cynicism than allow oneself the opportunity for further heart-break. There was only one thing left to do now: bury the dead and move on. 

With only a nod of acknowledgement, the stranger turned away, distant soul lingering only as second longer on the emotional scene, cold facade broken only long enough for him to recognize he no longer wanted any part in the proceedings. "I'll find a shovel." His words were drained, harsh, biting. Departing the group, the warrior picked out a suitable spot, one in the shade of some large and unmarked tree and with the aid of one of the bandit's camp tools he began the process of over-turning mud and mortar, creating a sizable hole in which the bodies of the departed could be interned now and for eternity.