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The clouds were heavy , thunders were dazzling the sky and the river was at spate like never before . Altogether quite not a symbol for peace but for an upcoming war , which will be idealised for generations .
A pair of eyes gleaming in the darkness were hiding behind the dead bodies . As an archer the heavy rain proved fatal . Soil was now mud , obstructing him to control the bow beneath his toenail due to the slippery base . In spite of knowing how every soldier is pinned to death , still fear was far behind to hold . Now the archer surrendered to the will of wind .
Only one thought was oscillating in his mind , “ Maybe this is my last war , and maybe the best fought by me .”