Guerilla warfare

The Crowl's men had met the men Arthor had left behind to set up their traps and as expected they stomped through the men. Their losses were negligible as they continued their march once they realized what had happened. 

The news had spread to Arthor and the others causing their expressions to sour even further. The plan Arthor had told them all once the enemy numbers were known, was put into place,

"The enemy advances, we retreat; the enemy camps, we harass; the enemy tires, we attack; the enemy retreats, we pursue."

His words rung in the ears of all present, and although none dared to voice it the doubt in their eyes was more than obvious. This doubt disappeared once they had realized just how effective the tactics were. The enemy knew were Arthor and his lot originated from, it was in his title for gods sake making their destination clear.

Now, when this stopped them from wasting time searching for their target, it allowed for Arthor's people to be ready for them. And ready they were, the crowl's men developed an intense hatred for Arthor and his ilk.

The first attack came just a night after stomping through the men Arthor had left behind. Their victory had left them inflated but the combat however minor had still drained on their stamina, they were people after all and not machines, they grew tired just like any man and required a good nights rest to function.

They were denied this however when arrows rained down upon them amidst the war cries. The men scrambled together as their leader screamed out to get them in some semblance of formation so as to face the enemy who was charging at them.

Iron sung as the two sides crossed blades, just as the Crowl men were in position however and ready to attack. The enemy who had truly only skirted around them disappeared into the darkness they came form, worried about a potential ambush the men stood their ground until they felt safe.

The night passed with none being able to gain so much as a wink of sleep, with the illumination of the sun. The men were truly able to access the damage that had been caused by the sudden but short attack. Quite a few horses were either riddled with arrows and left for dead or had wounds that left them otherwise incapacitated. 

The damage was not limited to the horse however as a number of men moved on to see their ancestors. With a sullen move they moved to search for the opposing army in a futile hope to deal a blow of their own, however their hope remained just that, futile.

The night raid was the first of many as various groups continued to attack them, whenever they decided to take a minute to rest. From when they stopped to eat or when they tried to use the privy, sleep was a luxury they could no longer afford.

With a few more nights of attacks the men were haggard, with their eyes blood shot and barely open. Their body weak from the lack of food and continuous weight of their armor they dared not take of for fear of another attack.

With all this combined when they arrived at the woodlands they felt a mixture of emotions with the most prominent being anger and fear. They directed their anger at the enemy whose home was surely right before them, at the same time they were terrified. Who was to say they would truly survive this march.

Already many had moved on, and with many horses gone quite an number were forced to continue marching on foot. With their numbers continuing to dwindle down until what it was now, none of them held the same confidence they possessed when they had began their march. Quite a few of those present felt countless eyes on them from the woodlands before them.

And all though they saw nothing there was no doubt in what they felt.

Their leader taking this into account and being totally exhausted himself let out one last sigh accepting reality before turning around and ordering a retreat, an order his men were more than happy to oblige. And so with lesser numbers and a serious gap between their weaponry, Arthor's men had emerged victorious.

They were however under no false impression that this victory could be repeated with their numbers. Every loss they suffered was an irreplaceable one meanwhile their enemy could foot two times the number they had sent, and if they failed to gain any new allies they were bound to fail once the enemy rode by once more as at that time they would most surely meet their end.

Hence the second part of Arthor's plan began.