I feel myself startle back to awareness as the sounds and smells of battle fade into the ancient past where they belong. Memory is a fickle thing, allowing some experiences to slip through its grasp while maintaining a death grip on others. I would that we had more choice over which memories were forgotten and which retained, and which were vivid and which were soft. Even now as I set my quill to parchment I can taste my own blood from injuries sustained during events long ago faded from the rest of the world, but as clear and sharp to me now as if they happened but moments ago. After all this time it would seem only the physical injuries have healed.