A ranger watches as the bulk of the army runs back towards the keep. He pats the yak’s head trying to keep the animal’s focus on the road ahead instead of all the bodies of the enemy at the southwest supply camp. The ranger plods along with the yak. He sees and hears sounds of war coming from the western keep. Siege engines are tearing down walls, and the supply is critical to bolstering their thinning defenses. For now the yak will move at its own pace, and the ranger’s thoughts slow down to echo the patient ease of the animal.
The ranger notices now the way the grass sways in the wind. He looks out across the lake to see blue skies. There is no storm portending the doom of a keep today. A small hill blocks the lake from view, and the ranger watches the local fauna holding court on that pinnacle of their kingdom. A few allies run by headed for war. They wave happily, and the ranger and the yak tramp along in a meditative rhythm.
An enemy appears from the hill. The asura thief drives with sole purpose to end the yak’s life. She succeeds amidst dozens of blows from the ranger and his allies and falls to the ground dead a few yards away from the yak’s body. The ranger and his allies stand above the asura’s corpse for a second in silent pause. Her death being little compensation.
The ranger falls to his knees, the certainty of the yak now gone.