Only one small child is weeping. He cries hysterically and inconsoleably for his parents, both of whom will die in their first engagement in battle. You are hardly aware of the noise he makes, though he has never been more than a dozen feet away. You hear that cry running throught the background of your thoughts, as lorn and bereaved as a lone kestrel on the open sea.
Standing high atop the battlements of Lund, you will have seen the truth of war unfold before your eyes. And afterwards, you will go to some place of privacy, so that no one will see or hear you weep.