The morning mists were just clearing and the common folk setting about their daily tasks when a horn sounded from a nearby wood. A lilting, almost insulting call, followed by a chorus of battle cries as Dearg Mor (Big Red), burst from the woods with a straggle of Picts at his heels.
|To Arms! To Arms! The enemy is upon us!|
Some of the herdsmen in the field drove the various groups of cattle back towards safety while others raced to head off the attackers and drive them back. Archers manned the tower and knocked their bows waiting for an enemy rash enough to come in range or try to storm the tower. The men in the village grabbed spear and shield and rushed to drive off the handful of raiders.
Twice Pict and Briton clashed and blood was spilled on both sides, but time had run out, the prize Bull was safely away. Sir Vincent called off the pursuit.
|The Bull is driven off into the mist.|
(Note to self: clean the lens...)
Enough blood had been spilt for one year and the news was not all bad. The value of the Aurochs and cattle that had been saved were as great as that of the Bull and cow that had been stolen. There would be time later for retribution.
Happy New Year to All!
Hope you'll come back in the year ahead!