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From behind him, a shadowy growler leaped over Barry and knocked the springing red to the ground before charging into the center of the battle. Barry and Trevor lunged forward to thrust their weapons into the heart of the fallen red.
More growls from outside the circle of Knights turned their heads.
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The column rushed forward fanning open, flowing to the sides like water round a stone as it poured into the roaring, hissing bedlam.
Barry and Trevor joined the barrier of warriors swiftly surrounding the reds and Marauders as they tore at each other in a melee so wild and unrestrained, fangs on both sides struck at anything that moved.
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Knightling Barry, pleased he could keep up with the column of more experienced Knights moving double time to overtake the vicious reds (“I mean, look at deeze legs!”), tried to ignore the ripples in his stomach. One moment they carried excitement, the next, dread.
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Back to Bog, where the battle continues.
~~~
The first few Knights to meet the front line of Marauders outside Connie’s home were leaderless and astronomically outnumbered, but they fought with grim resolve: better to die than lose any of Bog’s children.
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Vernon’s tale will have to wait. Bog is under attack.
~~~
The rabid reds raced north toward the center of Bog, pursued by the Knights of Service. Marauders slithered unchecked from the northern border on a collision course to meet them. Devastation lay in their wake.
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The Knights of Service worked together in silence tending to the injured, removing the fallen, gathering the weapons left behind. Someone had taken the initiative to mount the heads of the vanquished Marauders on pikes and stab them into the ground as a crude fence of morbid monuments facing outward along the border.
Let them feel their triumph with their grief, King Arnie thought. Soon the day will come when we feel sufficiently secure and ashamed enough to take it down. Today was not that day.
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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