536 Stumps

I'd like to say my initiative paid off, and I'd gotten away. I'd like to say that I slaughtered those sent after me, or that they chased me until nightfall, and then broke off for their camp.

Alas, the truth is messier than that. Shortly before noon, their archers ran out of arrows. Their sergeant concluded a single squad wasn't enough to finish me off, and then they marched off to the south.

Ass.

If I knew my prey was already wounded, and fired off some three dozen or so arrows, I'd have my squad press what had to be an advantage. I'm glad that sergeant didn't; he'd have probably killed or worse captured me.

Instead, I was left on a hillside within line of sight of half the army. They looked... well, they looked harried, dragging their feet as though they hadn't slept in a few days. Like their holy war had sprung a leak, and let all their motivation drain out.

What had happened while I'd been absent? <1 >