The Fox and the Bull charged forth, paw to hoof, into the heart of the grinding gears of wars.
There was a profound, terrible clarity in that shared slaughter. It was a communion more intimate than any diplomatic handshake, more honest than any communal plan they had ever conducted against their shared enemy.
And in the red mist of the field, the two men truly understood one another.
No words were needed; no conversation was held except that of the eyes as they partook in a dance that had begun with one, expanded to two, and now consumed ten thousand in its aftermath.
They fought for different reasons, anchored by a mutual mistrust, yet in that frozen pocket of time, the world was laid bare. They felt like gods as they became the harvesters of men.
Alpheo was neither as fast nor as strong as the golden phantom beside him,he was slower , less skiled and weaker, but he forced his broken body to keep pace, the best he could.
