Here is the battle of a quick page. I was giggling while writing this.

Scottish Marches, Northumberland
            There was nothing akin in mundane life to the fire and fury of battle.          
   Under the formidable command of the Earl of the Surrey, Robert led the Earl of Northumberland’s contribution hither and yon. Surrey positioned the English on a hill, facing down the Scots. The Scottish held their pikes aloft, aimed to impale, but the English cannon roared. Cannon vs. pikes. Hmmm.          
  The men Robert and others led utilized their bills, curved, sharp lances, to hook teir prey and hurt them, dragging them off their horses. Archers sent arrows flying from longbows.         
    Through the confusion, Robert could see the banners of the Scots: Bothwell, Argyll, Lennox and most importantly, the King, James IV. As the important men of Scotland died, one by one, Robert heard yelling*. He fought hard, knocking a man off his horse with a good strong punch, hooking another though the shoulder with his bill.          
   “Yah!” Robert shouted to his horse, who carried him in full armor, over the heaving carcasses of other horses, over the bodies of dead men. The Scots rode and ran in confusion. When Robert turned back with his men toward the English lines, he realized why.       
      A bier had been brought to the field and a bloody body, a broken man, placed on it. The Earl of Surrey ordered the body carried off, but held onto the ripped coat. Robert saw that it had blood on it. An orderly held a staff with a banner hanging limply upon it.             Opening his helmet, catching his breath, Robert unfurled the banner in his mind and understood what he had just seen.           
  The King of Scots had died.           
  Surrey gave a nod. The orderly and the others around him roared, the roar spreading across the English lines. The orderly waved the banner in the air.            
 Robert breathed. The English had won.  

Ahahahahahahahaha*I should think he heard yelling, you know?


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