A terrific nightmare of disorganisation it was, when the sun finally came up to reveal what destruction had come to pass. The forest of tents had been flattened. Very few remained standing. Some had even caught flame, and now all that was left were a few scraps of charred canvas.
As for the oxen, their fires soon went out, and with them, the pain began to ease off. Their mad charge had been brought to a halt, and now, they wandered sporadically around the plains, helping themselves to meals of luscious grass. The villagers might wish to gather them at some point, but for now, the men felt they'd more than earned their rest.
There was indeed a great number of corpses. The Red Feather men had spared no effort in forecasting their viciousness. And yet, there were men kept alive as well. After the capture of Matsudaira, their reason to fight had died, and most laid down what weapons they had, surrendering for the sake of their leader.
