Alpheo walked slowly among the bodies, his boots squelching in the ground that had mixed with blood. The air was house to the stench of death, and the silence was only broken by the occasional groan of a wounded man or the cawing of distant crows circling above.
This would be the third , Alpheo thought as in less than a month he led 3 different battles all in victories, truth be told, he felt good about that.
'Undefeated once again!' he cheered again in his mind.
Bodies lay scattered across the narrow road, many with shattered skulls from maces and war hammers. Some had been pierced by javelins and arrows, the shafts still sticking out of their chests, necks, or backs, like markers of their final moments. Limbs were twisted in unnatural positions, and the once-proud banners of Ormund's army lay crumpled in the dirt...a bit like their future.
