The morning after the ambush dawned cool and quiet, the air heavy with the scent of trampled grass and spent iron. When Alpheo received the report on the battle's aftermath, it made for unexpectedly pleasant reading.
Thirteen men dead. Thirty-four wounded.
Considering the scale of the fight, the numbers were almost absurdly low, an outcome that really wan't that hard to expect given of the difference between soldiers drilled by discipline and peasants driven by desperation. His ambush had struck like a hammer on soft clay, and the enemy had broken before they even knew what hit them.
The quartermaster's notes that followed were even more satisfying. Twenty-nine horses captured,enough to replace those that had fallen, and a wealth of salvage besides: sixty-four chainmails, twelve sets of plate armor, and countless swords, shields, and helms to melt or mend.
