Reign of Death
As the rest try to phantom what went on in such an exchange while tryin' to regain some of their composure. They step over to the exsaprated Wonderwall carefully. Tiggs says... We won't ask "cause we know your not tellin' what went down between you two. And I believe we rather not know. Well never you mind little lady. Just a friendly wager is all. All I will tell ya is whatI know is what I know and don't ask me how I know it. But don't any one of you doubt it. And just what would that be cowboy. Asks Tim. What I know Mr Holzbaur is we're all gonna be right here when this is all over. Including that slick talkin' Bird of ours. Ya hear? In one low voice all reply...Yes.
You think there's enough in that there flask of yours to go around? Asks Q'mom. There sure is, He replies. It's been hexed some time ago to pretty much always stay half way. Good. Because I think we all need a belt or two. She says. As he hands each a round. He comes to Som last. Looks him over and says. Your thoughts don't seem to be entirely here with us poet. He thinks mighty highly of you. I for one would like to know what you have to say. Lookin' back at him Som responds... What I say is of no consequence this day. Only one truth I can garantee. I'm listenin' poet. Takin' the flask from Wonderwalls hand. He pans all their faces. Then says... His reservations weren't for nought as you can see cowboy. 'Cause Hell's cup is about to runneth over this fateful day. And in a very, very vicious way. Then takes a mouth full of that potent whiskey without so much as a blink of an eye. Wonderwall takes it back and also has another slug. With a look of admiration he holds out his hand and says... Our Bird knows the best when he sees it and there be no arguement by me. As they shake hands. Tim adds his hand to theirs. Followed one by one by all the others. Thus sealin' a bond all their own. Tim says to Wonderwall on the side...I think I know cowboy and don't envy your your end of that wager gunslinger. Wonderwall answers... Mr Holzbaur, when in the belly of the beast. The only sure bet is... All bets are evenually off. Holdin' up his left hand showin' Tim his index and middle fingers crossed in the fashion that null and voids any preceding promise.
Just then a high pitched caw goes out across the divide. They all look up to see the mass of Ravens and Crows spread into a solid black line. Takin' up half the sky. Then a massive launching from behind of thousands and thousands of Sparrows streak across not unlike the opening salvo of countless archers of yore letting loose their razor sharp beaks honed and pointed as deadly poison tipped arrows. Wow! I bet they didn't see that comin'exclaimed Wonderwall.
Then as if in direct contradiction to that staement. A grude netting of weaved strings and other vile things half the field long and a dozen feet or so top to bottom. Embedded with all kinds of severed claws, beaks, and other sharp things collected from their slautered victims spiking within and throughtout. Drawn up by thousands of pigions across the edges to meet these arrow beaked sparrows head on. Bagin' and shredding nearly half of them on contact. As the sheer wieght of the bloody bulb forces it to be dropped to the ground. The remaining half in a suicide assault zip into there enemy's front line. Taking out an equal number to their own with them. DANG! I didn't see that comin'.
We better get our tails back some. Because things are about get a hell of a lot more nastier. Said Willow who till now seemed to be in a far distant distraction the sames as Som seems to be as she points at the two giant jet black flanks seeming to separate in the center. Forming into two massive wings makin' ready to storm in across and low. Straight at their rotten foe. Is this a good way to go? Asks Boops to no one in particular. Out numbered the way they are. I can't see what else there is to do. Answered Tim. As our ebony warriors raced head on and the opposing line bracing for it. Our two avian flanks now just shy of impact. Executed a dazzling maneuver. Choreographed with such tight precision. That it would be the envy of the most brilliant military minds of all time.
With a sudden interlacing crisscrossing with a speed nearly faster than the eye can follow. They switched places and thus confused and caught their enemy in a death diving side ways angle. Decimating the remaing first rank in short order and without missin' a beat. Tore savagely into the second rank with a bloody vengence. Forcing the entire line back toward the third. While ripping gapping openings up and down the line. Thus allowing small pockets of a hundred or so race through and mount vicious assaults on the third line in kind.
King Vulture with disgust seein' his first two ranks made mince meat against the ravens and crows. And his third rank being harried and on the brink. He commands the forth to close ranks with the third and hold the line or die tryin'. With that charge the advance of our black winged warriors slows. And the line soon stagnates. Thus tipping the balance of their fates.
By now our twelve can no longer distinquish who from who. As the whole line of battle just 50 yards off is obscured in a whirlwind frenzy of flyin' feathers, dismembered wing and bloody flesh parts so thick. It looks like black smoke laced with streaks of crimson. As numerous spinnin' tempests givin' ground back and forth and in and out.
Then just as the grains of sand through the hourglass must flow.
So also do our number of ebony plumes must fall.
Adding their layer within and atop below.
A rising and expanding carpet of gore.
Thus be the turning tides of war.
Seeing with mounting glee the balance tipping his way. King Vulture with a couple of dozen of his murderous elite. Took to the sky to seek out his longed for prey. Seein' the whirling dark cloud like frenzy begin to slowly contract and descend to the groud. It was clear to the now disheartened twelve that the tide had turned. Closing closer together save for woderwall. Who had just reached down to his boot. They see him draw out and unsheathe a gleeming bowie knife. Tuckin' it behind the buckle of his gunbelt. Tiggers asks what are you fixin' to do Wonderwall? Little Lady, things look to be goin' south. Which means it's time for this drifter to play his last card. What the hell are you talkin' 'bout cowboy? Hollers Ma7. As all turn to hear his answer. He replies... This lowly cowpoke was born to spit in the devil's eye or die tryin'. No Wonderwall don't go in there. Emplores Tiggers. I'm truely sorry friends but I just can't wait on hell to come. I was made to bring it, and that' what I haveta do. I guess I can't get ya to reconsider huh? Asked Tim. Lookin' him in the eye Wonderwall reaches behind his long coat collar drawin' out a slightly scaled down replica of a classic winchester rifle. Mr Holzbaur. That un-envious wager is yours now Sir. Then turns and tips his hat to the others and starts for that dark cloud with long strids just 30 yards ahead now. As the others all yell Nooo... He draws both his guns and breaks into a full charge vanishing in the midst of it. All they are left with is hearin' him blastin' to smithereens pigion, buzzard and vulture alike. Judging by a few reloads that sound less louder as he must be getting deeper in the frey. They hear nothing for a bit. And then... they hear something that runs all their blood ice cold. Something none of then will ever forget for as long as they live. However long that may be.
Foot note: We've few roughly 2 thirds along this long dusk. I'll resume drafting and composing the trickyest and indeed the hardest part of this flight yet for the home slog after the weekend. By weeks end we'll come to know....
The Dawning of the Day.
Come what may.