At the base of the hill, the remaining 350 footmen stood in disciplined ranks, their shields locked and spears resting at the ready. They watched the battle above with tense anticipation, their eyes darting between their comrades locked in combat and their prince's heir, Arnold, who sat atop his warhorse, surveying the scene with all the calm detachment he could muster.
Arnold's armor gleamed in the sun,as his sharp gaze moved across the hilltop, taking in the stakes and trenches where his men fought fiercely against the entrenched rebels. The clash of arms and cries of battle drifted down the slopes, but after an hour, the lines on the hilltop remained largely static. No decisive ground had been gained or lost, though the mass of bodies showed proof that it certainly was for no lack of trying, as the man fighting within it were having the worst time of their life
