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Over time, I had learned that death in battle was inevitable. My warriors always fought on, confident in the knowledge that I would not wantonly waste their lives. Still, seeing my warriors like that was always emotionally and physically exhausting. Indian But there were still several dozen more buildings to inspect. The first four structures contained injured Arkadians being treated diligently by my own warriors. These were the enemy warriors my warchiefs had identified as thrallsvar and villein. I hadn’t had a chance to talk over each case with my warchiefs, so I wasn’t familiar with most of them just yet. Still, there were a few I recognized from the heat of battle. I recognized a young trainee with fiery shoulder-length hair who’d stood her ground as her comrades fled around her. She lay on her good side, bandages stained red from her bleeding flank, blood leaking from between lips clenched tight against the pain. Gjord’s killer was there as well. He had been caught fatally off-guard by the nimble teenager’s reckless moves. My guess was that she had been trapped in the salient as the rest of the Arkadian army had fled. Now she lay twitching asses in the dirt, her arm hugging the gash below her ribs. The cut was serious; the blade had sliced through the skin, muscle, and organs of her midriff. Black blood flowed steady from the open wound. If she survived long enough for Sigrid to get to her the wound might have been survivable. But that possibility was looking slimmer and slimmer by the minute. The dying teen’s wound was generally representative of the severity of the injuries that I saw amongst the future thrallsvar and villein. These warriors had fought better, harder, and longer than any of their comrades. An encounter with any of them was guaranteed to end in bloodshed—their enemy’s or their own. Of course, the downside of that was that relatively few such warriors survived to be named. But the ones that were too tough to let little things like potentially-mortal injuries get in their way would certainly be deserving of their new titles. Such grievous injuries also meant that bodily fluids from bleeding bodies and voided bowels proliferated alongside the growing number of corpses. The straw on the floor was filthy; covered in shit, barf, bits of flesh, and every other bodily fluid known to man. The dirt underneath had grown muddy with the piss and blood of a dozen victims. Dead bodies were left amongst the wounded. The last straw was the warm sausage of shit that squelched beneath my boot as I tried to navigate around one of the healers. “Get some of the slaves to clean this place up,” I shouted at a young Clan warrior. He saluted and hurried to fetch a work party. A half-dozen captive Arkadian warriors shuffled in a few minutes later as I departed. I took a break, such as it was, by checking in on the houses that held the injured Zavalan villagers captured what seemed like an eternity ago. Most of them were resting fitfully. After two weeks, few of their lives were in doubt; the ones that would die off had already passed, while the survivors were already over the hill on the path to recovery. A few looked up as I entered but quickly averted their eyes when they recognized me. After that, it was back into the fire. Thirty buildings were filled with Arkadian wounded and that number was growing by the minute. The evening passed by in a haze of blood and shattered bodies. Here, a sniveling Wildcat tried feebly to plug the stab wound in the right side of her belly. I said that's a silly question, you will find out Boys ALWAYS do. His cock was fucking Doris like a piston, his hips thrusting to and fro with increasing speed and power. "No sorry, I guess I don't remember you." spouting out something before I seemed stupid to him. Both girls still lived at home with their parents--and also "lived for" their next weekly Indian sleepover together. What did you say! "Uhhh! Cory added. I pulled my bifocals out of my breast pocket and polished the lenses with a corner of my flannel shirt. “Sit down, I guess.” "Please, someone help me!", She screams while I leave her there helpless to change my clothing. That’s when I opened my mouth and closed my eyes, and when I asses did I felt moms tongue go right in my mouth. “Then you can wear it. The four friends have fun around the pool: drinking beer and eating snacks, hearing music of the radio of Mauricio´s car: samba, rock and Brazilian northeast country music. My cunt convulsed. This is the first time I’ve tasted a man’s cock. He wasn't quiet as long, About ten inches but ​v​ery thick


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