┊♛ ᵃ ˢᵒᵘˡ ᵒᶠ ᵐᶤˢᶜʰᶤᵉᶠ

                      “ IF THAT IS WHAT THEY WISH, LET THEM. ”  stomach already began to turn at the thought, and yet the king had a point; the men had to eat.  “ if anyone would like to partake, then at the very least it would be of their own free will. ”  gaze remained at bloodied ground, and yet no other sign of submission was given.  “ —but what of you, your grace, will you be joining me? ”

                      FIRST RULE OF SURVIVAL: speak only when spoken to. second rule: keep opinions and ideas to yourself.   these were but a few vital pointers when in the presence of their beloved king and yet…  “ permission to speak freely, my liege? ”  the slight nod given caused the straightening of spine. rye knew it was ill-advised to continue, but what kind of a general would he be if he stood idly by and watched his men suffer?  “ i’ll gladly execute the renegades, but i will NOT punish those who saw us to victory. if you still wish for the men in question to be —eaten, i will see to it myself. ” 

                              THE URGE TO BITE THE HAND  that fed put muscles under further strain.  “ oh, he will recover. of that i have no doubt. ”  to swallow his aggression was to swallow his pride; all necessary to keep head firmly attached to his body. one of these days the king would surely overstep, push him just a little to far, and rye would be the one suffering the consequences.   ( your army?  H A !  MY army )   greed almost killed him then and there. thankfully the general quickly regained control of a rebel mind.  “ such a reputation would fall on dead deaf ears, your grace. m-your victory here today will forever be a testament to your great fortune, ”    a pause as metal spine was forced to bend,  “ not to mention their fate should they ever dare to stand against you. ”   ( your will, my hands )

                      THE SUDDEN OVERWHELMING NEED TO PROTECT  caused his jaw to twitch. to show favoritism was to show weakness, and to admit to such an act proved more of a challenge than anything else.  “ previous injuries had yet to properly heal, rendering him a liability for the time being. ”  arms rested comfortably behind his back as he made sure to keep the king’s pace, much like a mongrel on a leash. 

             SOAKED IN BLOOD AND NOT A SCRATCH ON HIM.  ( at least none that caused any concern )  a strong sense of pride kept his spine aligned, the result of HIS victory presented on a bloodied battlefield. the sick need for praise and validation was tucked away underneath his ribs.  “ it’s almost impressive. ”  the general cooed, head tilting in fascination as further assessments were made.  “ the crows will get to him before death does. “  a step forward was taken in order to address the impaled man properly,  “ the gods must  truly  want you to suffer. ”  cue a twisted smirk void of sympathy. 

                                        FIRE.  DEATH.  GLORY.     the trail left behind them naught but ash and decay, its fires still whispering in the horizon of the army camp. surrounding them, the hungry pecking of crows feasted on pole-pinned bodies — the perfect welcoming sign for whenever renegades returned to villages unmade.    ❛  ah, can you hear that?  ❜  pausing by one of the impaled captives, the king surveyed him as he groaned in agony.   ❛  this one’s still alive.  ❜  no pity nor sense of dread could be traced; only a subtle hint of amusement, if anything.