Cutter's Note

We were damned fools to take up arms against the Fusiliers. Ferrus told us we had strength enough between us. Said we were men, not beasts to be driven. We believed him. And truth be told, the soldiers had pushed us far past bearing - working us like draft animals, laying hands where they’d no right to. A man can swallow only so much before he chokes on it. But we were woodcutters, not soldiers. It was over quick. Smoke. Screaming. Benjamin took a ball through the face - dropped where he stood. Many more fell the same. I ran. I’ll not dress it finer than that. They did not kill Ferrus. Their Captain would not have it - insisted they take him alive. Cost them dear, too. Took near ten men to drag Ferrus down. Even then he fought like a bull at slaughter. I saw his face before they hauled him off. He was beaten, but not broken. I hid in the treeline till dusk. That was when I saw Benjamin again. Walking through the woods aimlessly, as though we hadn't just been in a slaughter. I thought to approach him. He still wore the coat his wife stitched for him. Blood stiff as tar across the front. I thought at first he’d crawled off and lived. But his jaw was gone. Shot clean away. He should have been dead. Yet he walked. I froze in fear as he continued past me. I don't have the words to describe what I was seeing. That was not Benjamin. This is more than soldiers and cruelty. Something is wrong on this mountain - either that, or I am losing my mind. I am leaving before night falls again. J