[By the time they reach the gates, Kratos's arms are almost full, and so is his throat. He holds back tears and emotion with long practice and an iron will. The pain in his leg helps; the one he hasn't mentioned. It's helped him keep things at bay.

[Before he can take a seat on the cart back, someone calls his name -- his whole name, not his rank. His ex-rank. Kratos turns automatically; and the baker's girl from earlier comes out of the crowd, pushing a warm package into his hands and kissing him on the cheek before darting off and out of sight again.

[For a moment, Kratos can only stand where he is, a statue to avoid emotion.

[A soldier returning home as a slave, and yet -- still seen, far more than he believed. Or possibly wanted. He isn't sure, if this has made things easier or harder.]