The fire was small but warm enough. Four of us sat around it – me, an old soldier with a bad knee, two farmers heading to market, and a trader who kept checking his coin purse like it might run away.
The soldier poked at the flames with a stick.
"The Syndicate is dragging half the region into their little war," he said. "Heard there's infighting now. Another group pushing back. Nobody cares about us ordinary folk. They're just fighting over who gets the power when it's all over."
One of the farmers nodded slowly.
"Last month they burned a farm three miles from here. Didn't even know which side did it. Doesn't matter. The harvest was gone either way."
I added more wood to the fire. Sparks rose toward the dark sky.
"And what are you doing about it?" I asked.
The farmer shrugged.
"What can you do? Stay out of the way. Hope they pass by next time."
The soldier laughed dryly.
"Or you join whichever side pays best. Not many choices left when the tax is higher than what the land yields."
I looked at him across the fire.
"And you? Did you join?"
He shook his head.
"Too long ago. Now I'm just tired. Just want peace and a place to die that isn't a ditch."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. Just heavy.
Finally the farmer said:
"What about you? You look like someone who wanders a lot. What do you think of all this?"
I shrugged and smiled a little.
"I think everyone should calm down a few pounds. Maybe share a beer instead of burning each other's harvests."
They laughed. Even the soldier.
"You're naive, wanderer," he said, but it didn't sound mean.
"Maybe," I answered. "But sometimes naivety's the only thing that keeps you alive."
Loaf lay beside me, breathing heavily. The wound was healing slowly. I put a hand on his back and felt his breathing rise and fall.
The fire crackled. Someone coughed. The wind moved through the trees above us.
No one said anything more about the war that night. But I couldn't stop thinking about how easy it was to talk about it when you weren't the one holding the flame.
Part 2 of 3The unwitting anchor
Fireside Lies
Around a campfire, common folk share their weary truths about a war that ignores them.