A group of soldiers was riding to a village, a banner held high by the leading soldier, showing a giant fat yellow dog.

The villagers saw them galloping in the distance, their horses pounding like drums into the ground. Hopelessness filled their countenance. Some even cried, others were trying to comfort themselves.

Some villagers gathered together, angry and desperate, they have nothing to fear, armed with nothing but scythes and pitchforks, only one had a sword, inherited. He led them, his call of arms, seeing that some answered.

"These yellow dogs are here to steal our hard gotten harvest!" He spoke, sword raised high and continued, "We don't have enough to feed ourselves! They want us to starve to death! I say, Nay!"

His followers cheered, all raising their makeshift weapons to the sky, the morale high and hopeful, some shouted, "Nay! Nay! Nay!"

As the riders were to arrive in a matter of time, the villagers didn't have much time to prepare. Nervousity radiated from them, some tried to be brave, but failed, gripping the weapon's handle so hard that the knuckles went white. The pressure was unbearable. Eyes glancing back and forth to others, trying to get reassurance.

The advancing horses stomped the ground, like a drum that was counting the time before death.

The arrival was swift, the soldiers halted, their horses reined in, seeing the armed villagers, the leader just said, "Fight us, then death only awaits you and the village will be razed to the ground."

Hearing that many villagers paled and hesitated, while some dropped their weapons, frightened already. The villager, armed with the sword, saw them hesitating and giving up, however, he couldn't allow them at all. If they were to give them the harvest, they will starve out. The village will be gone.

So he made the call, charging headlong at the leader, mounted on the horse, struck at him, hoping the surprise was enough. But it didn't seem to be the case as the mounted leader just pulled on the reins to the side, his horse obeying, just barely dodging out of the slash. The villager's heart sped up, his surprise betrayed his expression as a quick downward thrust from the rider's sword penetrated his fragile neck. Blood gushed out of the wound, his body hitting the ground, painting the dirt red.

The mounted soldiers' faces were set to stone masks, some hide it better, others not so. He called out, "You are not the first to rebel, but I hope you will be the last," His eyes haunted, he slumped, betraying his tiredness.

He didn't want to order it, but he hoped it would be the last village at least. On his face appeared a determined look, he turned to his soldiers, addressing them, he ordered, "Slaughter all. Be it man, woman or child. Then burn the village. Nothing but ashes will be here. Let the Heavens grant them mercy for I will not. Do your duty!"

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His soldiers swarmed the village, killing villagers left and right, some tried to escape but to no avail, as horses ran them down. Not long corpses littered the ground, the smell of death strong in the air.

At the end of the day, the mass grave burned. The flames roared as they engulfed the village.

On the horizon, more bright lights were seen far away, illuminating the dark, helping some peasants traversing the forest.

In the forest, a corpse laid on the ground, it's limbs gone, the head cleanly severed.

There were three women eating their fill in front of a campfire. The shadows moved, morphed into ugly big figures. One of them ate a cooked limb, her skinny body shivering at the cold, all the while scrambling near the fire. Others were doing the same as the cold air seeped into them.

As they savored the meat, almost feeling at peace, a scream interrupted them, dragging them out of the illusion.

Tensing at the possible danger. Catching each others' eyes, they confirmed their next actions.

One of them equipped her bow and took some arrows, she stalked to the place the scream came from. Her two companions were also doing the same, sword at the ready, spear hoisted, they both followed her lead.

Advancing in silence, they neared the place, a clearing showing deserters around a campfire laughing all the while torturing a woman to death.

The three woman's expressions were grim, their darkened faces said it all. The one with the bow indicated to the other two. Both of them nodded, moved into place. Even as the corpse was cooling down, one deserter was relieving himself in her, not noticing the nearing danger.

An arrow nocked, the bow readied and aimed, released. It flew into the laughing man at the campfire, hitting him at the eye. His screams alerted the man who thrust into the corpse, however before he could pull his sword out of its scabbard, the other woman made itself known, slitting his throat, quick.

What came next was an orgy of blood as the three moved with practiced ease, killing the deserters, savoring their delicious screams as they bloodied the ground.

A small grave was erected with stones as a marker. The three women prayed, kneeling on the ground with clasped hands, "May the spirits guide you to the afterlife."

After the short ceremony, they gathered the corpse of the deserters, cut them into small pieces. The hunger resurfaced.