Suddenly Izurians sword collided with a vicious woad, who had been hiding throughout the battle. His heart leapt when the blue marauder leapt up out of no where, lashing out at him. It was only quick reaction and automatic instinct that saved Izurian. The beast howled as he fell to the earth, blood spilling and staining the woven mat on the floor. Izurian panted, and gradually, lowered his sword after realizing there was nothing else. As he began to turn away, something caught his eye, huddled in the corner. A young Lancasterian girl, perhaps eighteen, sat with her hands bound and her mouth gagged. Immediately, he realized why they were attacking this camp. It was not because they were very close to Lancasterian borders – their numbers would be nothing if it was for that. No. They were recovering the men and women who had been captured when traveling. Rage rose inside of him. ”Captain Doran!!” he barked, as loud as he could before dropping his sword and running over to assist the hurt girl. A bruise on her forehead told Izurian her capture and been nothing short of traumatizing, so he worked as gently as he could. As he untied her, he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of her prison. Mirmadent met him outside. ”My lord, they had prisioners?” he asked, confused and greatly surprised.

”Remember last week?” he said, panting a little. ”When we received news of Woads capturing six Lancasterians? This wasn’t to get the woads away from our borders. It was a recovery mission.” Mirmadent didn’t say anything, only gawked at the fact. ”Get any spare horses, and notify some of my men to look for the others.” Where was Doran? He didn’t have time to waste here, and he was getting tired of holding up this girl. Normally, it would be no problem, but after half an hour of vicious fighting, it most certainly gets to you. When he saw a surgeon, he quickly rushed over to him in short, uneven steps. ”Treat this girl for any wounds. She was taken captive.” he said, stating the obvious. When he ran off next, he noticed the soldiers he had assigned had found another. He was an old man, in complete contrast you the young girl, hobbled with a gash on his knee. He was far too skinny. His grey hair fell in a sweaty mess, and he gasped with every step. Izurian didn’t know how long he’d last, and certainly wasn’t getting his hopes up.