A Most Supreme Battle

The battle started yesterday. Not even a battle expected. More of training exercises with other forces. Nothing new, nothing unexpected.

First shots were fired, the exercises commenced. Except the other side's volleys were more intense, more deliberate. Confused, the small force continued the exercises, wondering about the fellow brigadiers that they were in training exercises with.

They stepped up their efforts to compete, knowing like always they would lose. They always lost. That's just how things were, some shots fired, some points gained, mostly enough to prove that they could compete against the others. But this time, it was a slaughter. Provoked or unprovoked it will not be known, but the small force bravely withstood, losing their ranks one at a time.

They didn't show sign of weakness, they knew the game itself might change if this weakness was revealed against the intensity of the attacks, or perhaps the intensity would further augment. Or maybe some sympathy. The small force did not know, for their fellow comrades with whom the fought were unpredictable.

And so, the other forces released the dust bunnies, thinking all was the same. They didn't watch the carnage that ensued, they only knew that their fellow comrades were still playing, and injured like they. So secret armies of dust bunnies unleashed, the Entrapper of Souls feigning innocence.

The other side huddled in, unleashing shots, but heavily wounded, scarred, mourning. This wasn't a normal skirmish. It was a slaughter, and all they could do was weather it out lest they be cut down.

Skirmish hours ended, and both sides went to rest, the opposing forces not knowing the heaviness of the wounds and the losses the other side received. They won. They always won. That is how it always was and how it shall always be. Everything was OK.

But the original camp could barely get out with the sun. They thought they could not regroup for the next skirmish, they could not recover soon enough. Morale was gone, energy gone. Lethargic, morose, slothful. Flag raised to show all was well, cheerful greetings sent forth, mocking their slaughter, but not revealing their wounds, for the sake of pride, for respect.

And so the day started drearily, cloudy, cold, barren. And it continued that way until an ally sent greeting and brought news of a new force, of a cheering up and moralizing of troops. And then the sun burst out and life bloomed. Soldiers on the point of dying smiled and gained the life to recover, wounds began to heal, cheerfulness became prevalent in the camp. Shouts of 'huzzah' rang out, life began anew.

And the other sides? Well, this cheering was nothing new. Their comrades were weird. It was to be expected. But even they would have to smile when they saw this riding by:

And all continued with the world.