When the red mist faded, Shahzad’s lungs were working
like bellows. He looked down. His slippery hands held an enormous sword that he
didn’t recognize. He looked around. Corpses lay so thick that he wouldn’t be
able to find a bare patch of ground between himself and the field’s edge. He
dropped the sword and stumbled forward, unsure in which direction his camp lay.
He was tired. Lifting his feet was a struggle and by the time he reached the
tree line he had fallen many times. Eventually, he found the a sea of empty
tents with smoldering cooking fires.
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