Dark clouds hung low, the atmosphere was murderous!
On either side of the road, in the forest, soldiers armed with firearms and grass forks encircled Thomas's caravan tightly, with numbers reaching at least a thousand.
Yet, it seemed more accurate to describe these men as hungry farmers rather than soldiers.
Their weapons were varied, but the only unified attire appeared to be the green turbans tied to their heads.
Facing the terrified caravan guards and the shivering refugees, there wasn't a shred of pity in their eyes.
A burly man walked right in front of the caravan.
He wore a bear skin, carried a round shield in his left hand, and a broad-bladed battle axe rested on his shoulder, highlighting his powerful physique.
The mottled dark red on the axe blade, whether rust or blood, did not hinder his menacing smile.
"Robbers? Us? Pal, I can't pretend I didn't hear that; which eye did you use to see us committing robbery?"
