He took a brave step forward, much to the chagrin of his cowering second-in-command, who had been forced into that role.

“No, come back. Seriously.”

      “You can stay there if you want. I am going on.”

With that delivered in the imperious style befitting a commander, he gazed forward at the enemy gathered ominously in the distance. Still far, but they had speed. If they wished to charge, they would reach his fort in minutes.

      “Do you really not wish to go? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Are you crazy? Why must you go there when it is obvious they will be upon us soon enough?”

      “Oh stay. But be silent. They will charge when they wish, but I don’t want to hide behind .. behind stuff. That is not the manner of a war chief.”

With that, he ran forward uttering a war-cry. A wind, gathering up speed and matching his howl with one of its own, tore from his grasp the only weapon he carried. He had refused point-blank to wear an armour, and so this had been forced into his hand, with a terse command to atleast be a little sensible. He now relinquished it without fuss. His second watched this proceeding with dismay.

Whether in response to his challenge, or because its own mind was made up, the enemy charged. It roared and came rushing and flying down to his fort, loosing all its arrows upon the dimunitive defending army of two. There was such a fearsome noise it was difficult to ascertain who made it. The battle was as short as it was furious. The victor had been decided even before it was known there was to be a war.

The vanquished chief returned to his fort, drenched to the bone, with a grin on his face.

      “That was fun.”

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