Drops turned to blades of rain, showering over their armour, arms and cloaks. They stood on the precipice of the hill and gazed down on Nueta from above. The rock that butter over the hill sheltered a pair of hares from the rain, but the ones that stood didn't care for no shelter.
They cared for one and only one thing; Freedom.
The ones holding the bows and carrying the quivers stood on the high ground. Henry, Carlos and the rest of the men went to the green surrounding the village. Their mission was to kill as many of them without alerting the others.
Goblins roamed the grounds, looking around stupidly. Water glided down their ugly faces, turning black and murky.
Leaves twitched behind and they went to them mumbling and making gurgling noises. Men dashed out, silent as a shadow, stabbed the monsters in the neck with a dagger and dragged the bodies inside.
