Bones Clattering Musically in the Wind

What would have been but half a day's journey on horseback was a three-day expedition for Robin and the Friar traveling the roads on foot.

Robin walked a mortal's pace, stopping at intercessions for Tooke to catch breath and pray, relieve himself, feed and sleep.

On the third day they stood beneath their eleven dear friends, aligned on the scaffolding, whose bones were now clattering musically in the wind. In just a handful of days the birds had picked the flesh away, discarding those parts less savory.

"They never made it home", Tooke said, before breaking into a weeping.

Robin had seen so many men come and go into death, he was well used to moribund endings; however, even this lit an anger in his soul. Men of the faith were never soldiers and had no chance ever of defending themselves. Ranked as soft as a woman and innocent as a child, this homicide was an explicit defiance to all things Godly. Whether robed or not, these were holy men, whose only treason was to tend to the wounded, albeit the enemy.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series