Looking in the direction of the young recruit, Old Laver's once languid body instantly tensed up.
At the edge of the wasteland, dust rose, and the sound of horns and thunderous hooves rang out simultaneously.
Fiery red or white fox tails danced on iron helmets, while deerskin gloves gripped riding bows, and white-feathered arrows in quivers bounced with the long wind and the hooves.
Over fifty agile light cavalrymen advanced in a fan formation.
Their mounts were shorter than the warhorses of the Thousand River Valley, but the colorful ribbons tied to their manes fluttered like snake tongues in the wind.
"Sheep thieves attack! Get into the wagon formation to take cover!" shouted Captain Ten and the other captains with all their might.
Then came whistling arrows from the Shattered Stone Plain bandits, a series of shrill bone whistle sounds echoed through the sky.
The shepherds on the hillside frantically picked up lambs, hiding behind rocks or in bushes.
