"That could have been nasty," Sayf said, a large scratch down the length of his dark arm. He still held his bow in his uninjured arm, gripping it tightly like it was the only reason he had survived the scuffle. "Too bad for the Atvari. They pay well, but they paid the wrong tribe." The smell of hookah wafted from his mouth, having already celebrated with his horsemen. Brasidas was not sure if it was a religious ritual or purely for enjoyments. He hadn't cared enough to ask. 

"Straton?" Brasidas asked the Lochias as he climbed up the hill, helmet carried under his arm. His scouts were already combing the enemy camp for supplies. Tonight every man they could spare would rest and drink hearty. Though there was the matter of the miravets. He did not know what would happen with a regiment of women and a regiment of men camping together. It wasn't like wintering in a city and waiting for the campaigning season, and even if these women weren't their comrades, they weren't going to be demure maidens or whores looking for a gold coin or two. Everyone else might rest, but Straton and his men had a long night of guard duty, as did his cataphracts whom he would post on foot to patrol and keep watch. 

"Hundreds dead, Archontas." He said. It sounded grim, but it could have been far worse, echoing Sayf's thoughts. "Hard to tell with all of them strewn about. We have seven hundred and thirty cataphracts left, eighteen hundred protostates, and four hundred and fifty nomads left. With the miravets, we should have thirty four hundred in all with only minor injuries, give or take a hundred soldiers."  

"Good. Keep your men moving. When we head out, we'll let them in the carts, but tonight they need to keep their eyes open. Theron, take a century of your most rested men and grid them around in groups to keep any man from being greedy with the spoils [i]or our reinforcements[/i]." He ordered, and the two men gave salutes, walking rather than hustling away. No man in their army had not been in that fight, and they were all exhausted. 

Just then, a horseman rode up in a swift mount. In the dying light of the evening, he could scarcely tell it wasn't simply a slim man until she hopped off and spoke. She walked like Sayf, though with less swagger. When she saluted, he mirrored it almost simultaneously. 

"Protus Kapetanos Phaedra Commnenus."

"Protus Kapetanos Brasidas Khalkós." He replied, taking off his helmet to better see her. His black hair was close cropped, though he sported a long braid that snaked down the back of his neck. He had a goatee, thick despite obviously being recently shaved. His eyes were copper, giving him an alien, bestial air. "You got here just in time, Kapetanos Commnenus. Thanks for that." He remarked. "Would you like to grab something to eat so we may speak? Because as much as I like the view on the slope, I've seen it a lot the last few days and it's a bit of an eyesore now."  

Sayf poked his head in, eyeing the woman up and down.