The Stained RoseThe field was silent now, the men had fought, bled and died. Even the Ravens and Crows had their fill and left the remains of the unfortunate to decay in the mood. The sun looked on impassive, bringing false warmth to the dead. In its gaze the dulled and broken tools of the dead’s former trade shined just a little, giving such vile instruments a tiny measure of beauty. A shame there was no one around to appreciate it.
A slight breeze picked up, and stirred some of the wreckage littered about the field, the flapping of torn banners breaking the silence of the scene. The banners, those tattered and trampled rags still declared the identity and Heraldry of their deceased owners. In the centre amongst the carcasses of horses and their riders flapped a red and blue banner with a still recognisable Stallion rearing up in gold embroidery, now marking the open grave of its master a nobleman. To the east with its shaft buried deep in the mud and poked full of holes was a simpl