Just like last weeks Six Sentence Sunday, this weeks is brought to you from my current work in progress (well it is what I’m working on when I’m not editing).
Cadrala’s long dark hair was pulled from her mud covered face, in only her boiled leathers, her true armor hidden in the under growth so it did not slow her speed. She waited in her spot beside the thick oak; the sound of heavy steps reached her long before she saw the first rider atop his large black stallion. There were more than she had expected, nine in all, each wore their large black helms with horns stretching to the sky, black aged leather armor over their chests and long flowing black cloaks whipped in the cold breeze. She had second thoughts, her plan was surely suicide, their thirsty long blades, and spears still caked with blood from the battle days before.
She held her breath as each past her, none giving so much as a glance in her direction, two long steps is all she needed. Jumping from the embankment, knees pulled upward as they landed into the last rider’s chest pushing him from his position on the horse, just as her dagger found the soft flesh under his chin.