Commander Gallo Francis gritted his teeth as salty sweat trickled down from beneath his helmet, stinging the open gash on his cheek. The pain was sharp, like fire crawling beneath his skin. He so much wanted to rip off the confining helmet and dress the wound, but the battlefield allowed no such mercy. His hands were occupied; he held a blood-slicked sword in his right hand and a sturdy shield in his other hand.
A fierce battle raged around him; the Brotherhood warriors, led by Rashid Abubaker, clashed with their ranks with savage ferocity and tenacity. Metal clang against metal, horses shrieked in agony, their hooves tearing into the dust-choked ground. A curtain of swirling dust danced around them, hampering their visibility of the battlefield.
