The Rising Smoke

The plains of Mordor echoed with triumphant sounds. Soldiers alive clanged their weaponry, chanting their mantra. Even the wounded sang the victory song with the forced smiles on their faces. The commanders congratulated themselves on a well-deserved victory. Everyone was happy; everyone but Drazen.

Drazen stood by the edge of River Gorem, his back turned to the camp, his eyes narrowed as if they sought to see a thousand miles from where he stood. There was something off about the victory. It seemed too easy. It was then he saw it, a faint trail in the sky

Drazen's fear had come to pass; the battle of Mordor was only a ruse to drawn them out. There was no mistaking the rising smoke in the distance.

"We've lost the war..." he cried as his knees caved in

They had lost their home. His heart sank for his wife and daughter.