Victorious
The grass has been pounded into the hard earth by hundreds of thousands of passing, trampling feet. That's fine. The grass was dead anyway, already brown and wilting in the bright sunlight. A slight breeze whispers through the air, carrying with it the unmistakable charge of electricity. Of anticipation. As the wind whispers through the part of my hair that has escaped from my helmet, it brings with it the scent of the impending fight. There is not an actual odor to it, nothing that can be described. It is more a feeling. As though lightning could strike me at any second, though the sky is bright and clear with only the faintest wisps of pearly white cotton balls to mark the endless sea of blue. I peer into the sky as the sunlight glints off of my armor, then glance at the hill in front of me. The enemy is just over that hill. I know it. We all know it. And I daresay the enemy knows we're coming. A few more steps and I will see the standards. A few more steps and I will top...