.... of the story. "Captain Gerome de Cahort glanced up at the rapidly improving weather. His druids had finally managed to make some headway against the unnaturally thick fog and cloud cover that had blanketed the field, and for the first time today, he could actually see the problem that waited for him at the far side of the grassy expanse. In the pre-dawn hours, the scouts of his advance column had reported that a mob of soldiers from the fleeing northern armies had decided to stand and fight on this field. What they had failed to report was that there was also a Sirrai general standing in their midst. He watched as it now walked along the enemy battle line, stopping every so often to talk to its troops, and then moving on to the next small knot of soldiers. Its presence certainly explained how the mob had driven off his probe sorties in the morning fog and had destroyed the charge led by his ogres just before midday. He had expected the lumbering brutes would've swept them from the field, but they hadn't. And neither had the two later charges he'd launched into the swirling mists. After seeing his ogres slaughtered, he ideally would've waited for reinforcements to arrive before launching any further attacks, but his orders allowed no such option. His course was set - clear the way of any obstacles so the main army could deliver the final defeat upon this enemy as soon as possible. There was no "wait" in those instructions, for the sooner the enemy was defeated, the sooner the war would end, and the sooner they could all go home. They would've already been home by now if the people of the Freland had simply lay down their arms when their capital fell, but instead they had fought on, scratching and clawing away like a mortally wounded animal that didn't know it was dying. But, after a year of fighting and chasing, the end was finally within sight, for the animal had nowhere to run and was short on lifeblood. He didn't need to look at his troops to know that their eyes were once again upon him, all of them waiting for him to raise his spear in the air and then point it at the enemy. That would signal the charge, a thunderous charge that would bring them one step closer to ending this madness. One step closer to once again being the school teachers, farmers, or builders they had all been not so long ago. One step closer to knowing that their homes, lands, and loved ones would be safe forever more. The Sirrai was no longer walking along its line, but had stopped and taken up a position directly opposite his but in its own line. It was standing there, unmoving, its weapons ready, looking straight at him. Was it waiting for him? Was it watching him? Was it challenging him to make another move? He flexed his bicep and felt the familiar weight of his spear. He would have to engage the Sirrai himself - no more of his soldiers need die at its feet. Perhaps he could bring it down wth the impact of his heavily armoured charging mount. Yes, it was time to solve this problem. Captain Gerome de Cahort raised his spear in the air." Every story has two (or more) sides and this is one of those other stories. Thanks for viewing and for any thoughts or comments you may leave.