If I could do one thing, it would be a medieval battle. I can imagine the rush of dueling an enemy soldier with a sword. The sounds of men shouting like a pack of lions, and the whistling of arrows bringing me back to reality as I end my foe. The clamor of battle sounds like the rushing of flowing waters, and fierce men, a wolf pack, rush towards me as I run into a farmhouse. The castle, a giant monster of stone, looms in the distance on my left as I run to the leader of our forces.
The horses gallop, splashing through small puddles tinged with the blood of many fallen soldiers. Battle cries ring in my ears as a small breeze ruffles the fur on my armor. The whistle of a sword slashing the air alerts me to dodge to the left. A shout from one of my comrades informs me to duck; doing so, a ballista bolt pins my adversary to the far wall.
I rush to the side of the house and look outside; the enemies' banner bearer falls under an onslaught of our troops. The horn of retreat is sounded and all the enemies flee from the battlefield. I throw my sword on the ground and lean on a wall while looking at my arms. They are covered in bruises and cuts; an arrow whooshes past my ear and I hear the enemies horn!
The enemies had ambushed us! I ran to the top of the hill to defend the flag bearer, but it was too late, we jogged towards our castle, but some enemies waylaid us at the gates. Fighting my way out of enemy lines, I ran back to the castle, escaping certain death. I waited for some of our troops to enter, then I shut the gates.
Running up the hill, a knight shouts at me that he had counted all of us that had survived the battle and the amount was twenty-three. I looked at him in shock, then turned around as I heard a banging on the gates; the enemies had arrived. I leap across a small puddle and ran up to the stronghold where many soldiers were guarding the king. Will we survive?