It was a sunny day in May when they struck, catching us off-guard on Turtle Hill’s observation point. We must have been getting soft. They pushed the twelve of us out of our headquarters, and we could see the fighting begin around the lights of Spider Town. We watched our attackers stride around our abandoned position through binoculars. They were well-fed, well-supplied, and well-armed but weren’t above arguing over the division of our lost equipment.

I led the counter-attack and we retook Turtle Hill. From those rocky heights, we looked on at the flashes and fires that surrounded Spider Town and the brightly glowing center. The outer perimeter may have fell, but the inner ring still stood defiantly lit.

On the way to town, we passed a small farming community engulfed in bright orange flames. In the center of the burning homes, an old woman sat crying amongst scorched bodies and ashes.

“Beware. Twelve of you ride tonight, but one is rotten.” The old woman said to us.

We rode past, pondering her words.