Wayne curled in on himself, his sobs quieting into ragged breaths as he stared blankly at the floor. "He brought me back after." He muttered, almost to himself. "Dropped me at the gates like it was nothing. Smiled at me...Told me to tell you what I saw. Said you'd understand now." He laughed again, a broken, hollow sound. "And even if you don't understand, I do...I understand."
Wayne's trembling hands fumbled at his side, his voice still flat and lifeless as he spoke, as though the act of recounting the horror had drained him of any remaining will.
"What I've said...It might sound like a fantasy." He murmured, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. "A dream—or a nightmare. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe me, my lord...It's too much, too mad to be real. That's why..." He reached into his coat, his movements slow and mechanical, and pulled out a small, blood—soaked sack. "That's why I took the time to cut off every bandit's ears."
