Arrows, hundreds of them, dotted the blue sky black. The sun was gone as screams lingered in the background. The wind gently rustled the bushes and the leaves on the trees.
The stench of dead bodies permeated the air----outlaws and garrison men alike. Those who weren't dead stumbled and fled, shedding parts of their armor as they ran.
"Ahhhhn!" Mosa screamed, veins bulging on his neck as he clutched his leg.
"Can't believe I took an arrow to the knee." Blood erupted from it like a volcano.
The other soldiers were shot down, arrows finding their mark anywhere from forehead to chest. Then, on the horizon, the opposing forces appeared, their horses thumping against the earth as they swung clean swords into Mosa's fleeing comrades.
"ARGH!" Mosa widened his mouth, his face turning red as he let out short bursts of air.
"Oh no…" A fellow soldier beside him stood up, covered in dirt and blood, staring ahead as the opposing forces drew closer.
"We gotta run," he said, turning his ghastly face towards Mosa as if he'd seen a ghost.
"No…" Mosa gripped the arrow tightly, pulling it out with a profuse sweat that caused more blood to spill from his flesh. Quickly, he pressed both hands onto the wound, applying pressure.
HUFF HUFF HUFF
"There…all better…"
"…"
"We can still at least do something…" Mosa tossed the damn arrow aside.
"Are you retarded?" the soldier said, his helmet hiding his face while blonde hair flowed out through the sides. But even the helmet couldn't conceal his disgust. Mosa's eyebrow twitched as he subtly recoiled.
"We're short on men…" The soldier sighed.
"You're injured as well, and on your leg of all places!" He pointed at Mosa's leg, which Mosa tried to cover further. "How do you even expect to run, let alone fight?!" He pressed a finger to his temple, his voice rising.
"..." Mosa's gaze fixed back on his injured knee.
This can't be it…right?
"No… what's the least we can do? Huh?" The soldier waved his hands in the air.
"Arghh…" He stopped, gently pressing his right arm, specifically his shoulder, where the cloth was absorbing red.
"There's no hope for us." His vocal cords sounded like a strained string.
"They're on horses and we're on foot." His eyes faced downwards into a puddle of blood, his face barely reflecting in it.
The remaining soldiers----those who could still run, at least----all passed them by, some even dropping their helmets and parts of their armor as they bolted away.
"Why aren't you guys running?! There's no hope!" a soldier asked them as he passed.
They both replied with their faces facing downwards, both lips sealed.
"Well suit yourself," the soldier shrugged and ran, taking off his chest plate.
"Even if we run---" The fellow soldier's hands tensed up as he took a deep breath.
An arrow swiftly flew towards them, moving at what seemed like the speed of sound itself. Their eyes saw it, but their bodies couldn't react in time. Both braced themselves in anticipation of who it would hit.
But then----they felt nothing.
"AHHHR!!"
Instead----the soldier who had just passed them had an arrow sticking out of his back.
THUD!
"---It still wouldn't make a difference." The fellow soldier's eye sockets were hollow.
Should've kept his chestplate.
His mind said sarcastically.
The soldier's body dropped to the ground as the arrows stopped coming, replaced by shouts and war cries.
"No… it can't be…" Mosa's face squinted, his eyes darting hastily as if searching for something. After finding nothing, his face relaxed.
"So this is it, huh…" He slowly released his hands from his knee.
"No…Not exactly…" The fellow soldier continued.
Mosa looked at the soldier, his eyebrows nearly touching.
"That will to fight… it could come in handy…" The fellow soldier said.
"And it sort of gives hope…y'know…" He later gave off a slight smile.
What hope?
"But what could you mean?" Mosa looked directly at him, his face squeezing up like paper.
---The end of chapter 4---