Amru sat atop his horse on a sand hill and looked down at his men, the chase of the valley forces halted by the reality of their condition. He would have loved to chase them, push them to the Desert Gate. Make them hunker down, believing they were safe, only to continue facing attacks and a siege. But he knew better. His men needed rest. He needed to rest. He had done what was necessary, chasing those who fled and killing those who remained behind. He had salvaged a battle, and what came next was rest.
Petting his exhausted steed's neck, he jumped off, hearing it collapse, and held the Carter banner high for all those below to see. The Desert lord and soldiers looked up to see Amru, his face covered by the cloth mask, satined with blood and sand. His eyes were hard, having lost the hesitation they had before his father's death. Before them all didn't stand the heir ordered to stay in the back and learn from battle, but their new leader and Lord who led the counterattack.
