... and then, while I was asking him for help, tips on writing poetry, Owain graced me with his perspective:

The soft mist of peace drifts slowly

 He thinks now of home.

 Gone are the nightmares, the death and despair

 Replaced by the hope that he feels in the air.

 Yet he feels broken,

 Empty, and lost

 The adventure now over

 His heart bears the cost.

 How could he have known

 Of the death and destruction

 Or the bodies that rot,

 Do they bear resurrection?

 They now feed the fields

 Where flowers may grow

 He prays softly for peace

 For the souls as they go.

 May the Goddess protect him

 As he journeys home

 To the family that waits,

 Though he feels so alone.

 Home is his haven

 Where his soul he may clean

 With the help of his family

 And his darling Irene.