It was an open field, nothing of note other than the crimson skies above, streaks of thinned clouds broke the screen of that redish orange. There was a simple sense of peace, simple and pure like that. The air was fresh, clean, a gentle current of wind made the long grasses dance. Over the horizion the setting sun was dipping, out of sight for another night before it'll meet the new day. A distance thundering could be heard, and yet that didn't matter, for it was unrelated to the serenity of that lone field. Almost beyond sight, just almost, stood a set of abandoned banners, their owners were gone leaving those symbols of power behind. That didn't matter. 

It was a dream.