Writing Exercise: Forced March

Words: 415

Just done to get some words down:

Two hundred or so others walked with Eloski in a ragged column, manned at strategic points by Hatchetmen atop their lumbering crashers. The previous day had seen three attempted breaks run down by the huge beasts, and a number of them still had red stains on their horns from when they'd caught up with their prey.

For nearly a month the Vederesti had forced them south at a rushed pace. After the disaster at Bazimon's Crossing it was all they could do to keep from angering their captors. Much like the rest of them Eloski had started out with his chin up in defiance, but  the harsh treatment at the hands of the Hatchetmen combined with the late-summer heat had worn him into submission. For the past few days all he'd cared about was making sure he didn't lose meal privileges.

Thunderous thuds announced a crasher approaching, and Eloski stepped aside to let the animal and its rider past. The large grey beast fixed him with one baleful eye as it rode past, and the man atop looked down at him in much the same way Eloski would regard a disobedient dog. The bright plumage attached to the Hatchet's helm marked him as some sort of commander.

"Do not make me repeat myself." It took Eloski a moment to realize the Hatchet officer had spoken to him. He looked up and shook his head at the man in a sudden sign of rebellion which earned him a *whack* across the shoulders from the man's short crop. "Your commander's name for an extra ration," the Hatchet said, and the crasher tossed its oblong head in shared irritation.

Eloski shrugged. He'd torn off his Officer patches at the end of the battle all those days ago, and now they were probably somewhere a hundred miles north, trampled into the dirt by the others. As far as anyone was concerned he was just a footman.

"Useless," the Hatchet said as he dug his spurs into the crasher's side. The grey thing snorted and tossed its head as it moved forward towards the next rank of huddled Dalldren marching south.

Eloski wasn't worried. These were his men, hand-picked for their loyalty and fierceness. Even as the distant city towers grew closer and he realized they had passed into the Front, he held onto some measure of certainty that none of the others would talk. Dalldren loyalty ran deeper than the world's roots, and were twice as hard to unearth.