A NOBLE BATTLE
Two armies lay on opposite sides of a great moor, licking their wounds, recuperating and calculating their next move. Temporarily the inclement weather had put a cessation to the slaughter, for visibility through the mist was much less than the distance of an arrow-flight. The drizzle had soaked the ground so much that it was a brave and skilled rider who could raise anything more than a stumbling walk on even the driest sections of the plain. So time had graciously allowed the two foes to bind their wounds, to bury their dead and plot their next moves.
One army was clad in black, the other white, an accident of history that seemed to have an ironic significance, as if the two sides were so akin to one another, if they were not adorned like this they would have massacred t
