Bk 1, Ch 6: War and Peace
I took a seat at the foot of the stage, exhausted. In front of me lay a middle-aged man wearing a cloak of embroidered gold. I figured he was probably the village lord. His spine was crooked and an arm and both legs were broken. No doubt he had been trampled to death in the opening moments of the attack. A woman and a boy in similar attire lay next to him with similar injuries. I pitied them; it was an ignoble way to die. I looked out over the square, over the veritable blanket of wriggling, squirming bodies. A tall man sat cradling his hands, which were each missing several digits. A young girl whimpered pitifully, curled on her knees and hugging the hole in her belly. A teenage warrior crawled slowly on her …