"Been too much of that," His head cants in some measure of solidarity: A shithole's still your shithole. Blanche shakes the pail back and forth, hunting after scraps. "Last I heard, army's diverting to the city."

Small comfort. Perendale isn't East of Perendale, and cracking the war back open won't do the survivors any favours. Some things, time just can't erase.

"What brought you back?"

His hand gleams faint green against the morning fog. Cedric's own reasons are plain.