The dawn slowly pierced through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the land.
Unidentified wild grass stretched under the shining sun, greedily absorbing the fresh blood that had not yet coagulated on the battlefield.
A group of vultures circled in mid-air, being the ever-present revelers of death. Occasionally, they'd swoop down to snatch a piece of decaying meat, only to be immediately driven away by the Eastern soldiers who were cleaning up the battlefield.
Count Nicoll sat dazed upon his war horse. The thick smell of blood that wafted by made him feel nauseous from time to time. The piles of corpses that were stacked up mountain-high on the battlefield nearly made the old count pass out.
This battle did not injure Count Nicoll, except for a frantic moment of running and losing his helmet in the process.
However, even if he was untouched, the old count seemed to have lost his backbone, his stooped waist and graying hair made him appear to have aged by a decade.
