Angel Of Death

The sound of hooves pounded against the earth, stirring dust into the afternoon air. A group of warriors, their dark cloaks billowing like shadows against the dying sun, rode through the valley of sand.

Among them, cradled in a warrior's arms, was a baby wrapped in a swaddling of soft, woven cloth. The child whimpered, its tiny fists flailing weakly against the bindings. The warrior holding it barely acknowledged the movement, his face unreadable beneath his hood.

From a distance, a woman emerged, running like the wind, her hair unbound, tangled, and wild. She stumbled over the uneven ground but did not stop. Tears streamed down her dust-streaked face as she screamed, her voice raw with grief and desperation.

"No! Not my baby! Not my baby!"