The Injured Rest in Death

Smoke and clamor of battle surround. With a trembling hand, Talia wipes sooty sweat from her brow. This small moment earns her a slicing blow across the shoulders from the Underguard’s whip, “Move, you beast!”
She does.
With a groan, she lifts another pitch impregnated iron ball onto the trebuchet.
No sooner does she release the ammo into the bucket it’s lit on fire and launched with a twang of released energy.
The machine nearly takes her arm. The grey-haired slave working the torch leans close, “careful,”  she whispers through a mouth half sealed from a wicked burn. “There’s no rest for the injured. Work or die.”

Medininkai Castle Siege

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