Chapter: A Last Supper

To my horror, as I came to understand the battle, I realized that—in their blind panic—the sartlar—attempting to flee from the fiery holocaust and thunder of the advance of Molochite’s dragons—were going to fall over each other. Their millions, so densely packed, could not hope to get out of the way of their fellows coming at them from the front. As one group fell, others would trip over them, or scrabble over the mounds to, in turn, founder on the growing hills of the dead and dying. The effect of this is like that that the sea, receding, produces on sand—ripples, ripples of corpse many metres high

The dragons of Molochite’s first line coming on behind, would crush their way through the corpses… but those of the second line, maddened by the fire burning on their backs and flanks, would run aground like ships on rocks