The taste of mud

Arnold sat atop his horse, his gloved hands gripping the reins tightly as he surveyed the somber scene before him. The remnants of his assault force trickled back from the walls of Stitz.The golden light of the setting sun did little to soften the grim expressions etched into their faces.

The soldiers limped and staggered, their armor dented and smeared with mud and blood. Some leaned heavily on comrades, while others clutched at hastily bandaged wounds, the fabric already dark with fresh stains. Their steps were slow and labored, tired and their morale dampened by another failed assault.