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She’d not heard the horses approach her village in the plains,
had known nothing or war of death until their arrows rained,
fiery streak against the night, set flame to thatch and straw,
scrambling from her father’s hut, ed hell was all she saw.
They came with lances, some with swords, some held back and shot bows,
in seconds me plunged to the earth, every one she had known.
They rode through with great abandon, swords flashing in the gleam,
armor clinked as they gamboled on, dealing wounds deep and mean.
She dashed about, trying to run, but they seemed everywhere,
her panicked scampering ended when jerked back by the hair,
“We got ourselves a pretty one!” their gray-eyed leader cried,
“My brothers, we’ll all get a taste of what’s between her thighs!”
She shrieked in terror at the words said by this beaded one,
he tore away at her tunic, all set to have his fun,
bent her on a fallen barrel and took her innocence,
then laughed when he was finished and waved on the other men.

How many force themselves on her she didn’t care to county,
she wept until her tears went dry, staring dull at the ground,
they slapped her, pinched her, groped her hard, each leaving their own mark,
cackling like forsaken souls born to haunt the cold dark.
The last one was not as brutal, but he still had his fun,
emptied himself deep within her, and then it all was done.
They bound her hands, hobbled her feet, so she’d not run away,
and several children were likewise bound, nevermore to know play.

They tied a lead to a brown horse, and also to her wrists,
then led along the conquered souls at  a pace rather brisk,
some of the children stumbled and their captors slashed their throats,
“I’ve no use for a weakling slave!” one of them chose to gloat.
The man riding her horse looked back upon her several times,
his light beard and his deepest eyes hiding all on his mind.
Several times when she stumbled he made sure his horse did slow,
why he chose no to cut he down, she did not claim to know.
They walked this way most of the day, ’till darkness came, quite damp,
then by a rock-choked riverside they found a place to camp.

She feared they’d have their ‘fun’ again once settled in this place,
looked in fear by the firelight at every brutish face,
but first they set to roasting meat from a haunch of salt beef,
drinking mead from wooden bottles, each laugh flashing their teeth...

CONTINUES IN PART II.
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