We buried our dead, which as it turned out was most of the town, a whole generation bloody and torn on the gore covered ground. How were we to rebuild with the sawers, carpenters, butchers, smiths and bakers along with their apprentices all either maimed or lying in a hastily scraped mass ditch that some of the less injured women and children carved out of the frozen ground? We don't know why the invaders have come, or what foul deity compels them to charge en masse, most of the brutes naked and armed only with stones, into our spears, and we are beyond caring. There is only the fighting now, and the dying. They will overwhelm us soon, none have any illusions otherwise, but they will have conquered only an empty village full of burned out buildings, and the dead, a feast for noone but crows.
