He glared at his Captain, anger threatening to muddle his weary mind and make him do something he would later regret. The Captain struts like a rooster at the head of their regiment, seemingly oblivious to the throng of families lining the street, the pitiful cries of women and children filling the air as they bewailed their dead.
For the diviners had been wrong. There had been no promised victory. No glorious return to their city as heroes. Instead, only a battered few had made the journey home, in defeat and shame. They had underestimated the Men of the West.