The flourish of trumpets assail the air as the gates open to the large town. Citizens gather along the main road to watch the parade. As the paraders pass through the gates, the cheering turns to quiet murmuring, as they walk solemnly past without distracting their gaze.
What greeted the eyes of the citizens shocked and scared them. It was nothing they expected it to be. No heads were held high, no victorious cheers or shouts were heard, only the quiet shuffling of hooves down the road.
The polished gold armor no longer challenged the sun with its sheen and brightness. Now, it was faded and worn, tarnished by filth and grit and mud, along with the unmistakable stain of crimson known as blood. Beaten and shaken, the soldiers trot down the road without coordination or purpose. Their heads are bowed as they constantly stared down and ahead.
Much fewer than who had left had returned, and many ponies began scanning the large mob, praying to Celestia that their family member or friend was not among those who had died. Many were wounded, but all of them bore scars. Maybe not physically, but they carried them regardless.
Some ponies approached the soldiers and inquired of their friends or loved ones. Most of these encounters resulted in the soldiers wordlessly looking away. How could they tell them that their sons or daughters were killed or horribly mauled?
Some of the citizens begun to muse amongst themselves. Claiming that this campaign was doomed from the start. Stating that it was a waste of their tax money, a waste of life, a waste of time.
More than a few soldiers became enraged after hearing these ramblings. Storming up to citizens angrily, screaming into their faces. Screaming that without them, the town would be an undefended, lawless hell-hole. They were enraged not because they supposedly wasted money or time, but because the citizens believed it was a lost cause. That their friends and comrades had died in vain, had died for nothing.
The soldiers vehemently denied this. Every life lost did not die in vain, every life had contributed, every life had helped to fight against the griffon army.
So they said, even though they had been defeated in their last battle. The griffon oppressors were still at large, their attack having failed. Forced to retreat, being driven from the land that was rightfully theirs. The hollow and broken shell of an army’s former glory and strength.