Tuesday, May 3, 2016

100 Words a Day 840

The morning air was crisp, the rising sun turned the land a cold gray. Two lines of men stared at each other, one behind fresh earthworks and the other atop a mossy stone wall, a muddy field between them. The sounds of cicadas filled the air. The battle lines were quiet, the only human sounds were prayer, crying, and vomiting. A man appeared behind the line of bodies manning the earthworks. He began slowly banging his sword on his shield. The cadence quickly moved down the whole line, overwhelming the noise of the cicadas and the sounds of human fear.

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