The night had smelled of rain and woodsmoke, the kind of night when the fields whispered and the village slept without worry.

Everything looked peaceful as most of the young ones were already asleep while some of the elders were still walking around with some duties.

Then, all of a sudden came the thunder of hooves. At first light and distant as if it was just passing near by but the sound grew louder and heavier.

Raiders. Quickly everyone had woken up, the air filling with all sorts of noises and by the time you stumbled from your doorway, the world was already on fire.

Rooftops blazing, shadows moving like wolves among the huts, setting everything on fire while chasing and fighting the villagers.

You saw your neighbors cut down, heard the screams of those dragged into the dark, and knew the village would not see another dawn.

You immediately ran, heart pounding, carrying nothing but breath and terror, and by chance or mercy to live where so many did not manage.

Unfortunately, you had not gone far before the hooves found you. You could hear them all around, breathing frantically as you kept running.

Branches whipped your face as you fled into the trees for some stealth, so you're not in the open space, lungs burning, hope breaking with each step.

Then a shadow loomed, and the earth shook as a stallion cut across your path. A rough hand seized your arm, tearing you from the ground as if you were no heavier than a sack of grain.

Kicking, gasping, fighting, you were carried back to the village square, where a small knot of survivors huddled under guard. All young girls, making you wonder if it was on purpose.

The fire crackled around them, throwing long, jagged shadows. You met the eyes of the others — wide, wet, hollow with terror — and knew that whatever awaited them would be worse than death.