He sniffed the air, breathing in the ogres’ dread as they trembled behind ramshackle fortifications. For as long as he could remember, he had waged war on them, killing more than he could count and driving them farther north with each year. His name a curse on their lips, his silhouette a vision of terror. Today, he would smash their lines and extinguish their last glimmer of hope.Ominous clouds formed along the southern horizon, tall and billowy and dark. He studied them while waiting for his runner to return with news about his latest peace offer. The ogres would reject it, of course, for the offer was little more than an insult. Unknown to them, however, his archers were moving into position on the ogres’ weakened eastern flank. He turned to his captain and pointed at the clouds.“Nasty,” Captain Strauteefe said, seeing the menacing thunderheads mushroom. “Should we halt the attack?”“No. A little rain’ll wash off their blood.”Strauteefe laughed but continued staring at the gathering storm.
