The Peasants Sounded a Hard Vengeance
Their pitchforks once rusted shined now clear and clean. They pointed at every compass quadrant and at all of the interstices between.
The children formed a busy hub around a maypole that they themselves had erected. They handed cider out in tin cups, from a central horses' trough, cleaned especially for the purpose.
Everyone waited in stillness for the battle to begin.
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