The night came, bringing icy cold air to the battlefield, and the moans once heard fell silent as the first snowflakes drifted down.

A shroud of snow covered everything, and in the morning a more beautiful landscape was unimaginable anywhere else, except for the knowledge of the grotesque shapes beneath.

Connell Wayne Regner had successfully avoided writing creatively since he wrote spontaneous lyrics to music some years ago. Although from a linguistic background, he has serendipitously succumbed to fiction. His other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.