A series of small skirmishes had erupted like fiery stars in the night sky all around the forest. The land was scarred by the relentless clashes, and at the centre of this turmoil stood Garnt, a leader plagued by frustration, while Moga's forces, under their cunning and brutal leader, suffered a similar fate.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pallid light over the weary combatants. Garnt's eyes were filled with anguish as he witnessed his less talented villagers fall one by one, their lives sacrificed in futile struggles. In the midst of the chaos, Moga's people also met their own share of sorrowful ends, with no significant progress to show.
"Damn it! This can't go on like this. How is this possible? How can Moga fight us with the same tactics?" Garnt hit a tree, as his patience reached the point, where he couldn't keep it inside.
