Chapter 98
He staggered to his feet and, in pain, fought his way back across the field, across the river that now ran with blood under the night sky. Hot, thick blood ran down his own side from his wounds, but he kept moving forward. Or...backward. Through the thick curtain of forest to the other side, where the city of tents had been created. Hundreds milled about in the medical area—injured, dying. Wails of pain and misery met his ears. Jonas kept moving, his legs weak. Finally he reached his destination—the chief’s tent. These tents—supplied by the Limerians—were larger than any Paelsian cottage he’d ever seen. This was where the elite rested and took their meals, which were lavishly prepared by dedicated cooks and servants. While eleven-year-old boys fought and died in battle two miles away.
- Writer
