He stood with his bloody sword in hand, breathing heavily, all around him was chaos, orcs and men were fighting, countless bodies in a mass without a shape, moving, pushing, running, falling, shouting. Blood and fire everywhere, the smell of death filled his nostrils, his body moving up and down by the deep breaths. Suddenly something that he thought was an orc ran to him, he could not see his enemy’s face but the armour and weapon showed that it was an orc. Fion lifted his left hand to defend himself and saw that his shield had broken, he was just holding the handle.
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Owena's Bakery
