A Spartan Outlook

I write this in the hopes that it will never be read, that our defense will prove sufficient against the Withered. They do not sleep, they do not think, they only charge mindlessly toward us. I feel as one of Leonidas' men must have, defending against the unending attacks at Thermopylae. The only difference is that for us, there is no end in sight, no limit to the numbers we must attempt to cut down as our own numbers dwindle. We prepare to flee back to the settlement, bearing only what we can carry on our backs, with the hope that we will one day return and reclaim our homes... our memories... our lives.