Good Evening

How does one measure success? Our trip into the haunted forest resulted in no material gain, beyond boasting several new scars. Will destroying a handful of the undead save lives in the future? Is that even measurable? But we lived, if a little battered, a little worn. Is continued existence in the face of death enough? This cider is the gentle pondering of purpose; it is, perhaps, a frail wall against the crashing void.