Her horse had passed. Behind her she left 10,000 dead men, burning up on a pyre of arrows, rising as smoke their flesh by fire. Two armies decimated, gutted by hatred and halberd until they became nothing but crow picked skeletons.

It was only when ashes blackened the air she knew why she had not seen the steeple of the cathedral pierce the horizon back out in the desert. They had won. The silence cracked with flame and vulture. They had won.

[ A mix for lady knights who have lost it all. ]

10 tracks