The Moment Before the Battle
Dusk is approaching but the heat does not retreat. The stagnant air still hangs loosely under the lambent sun. Weak rays of sunlight ignite the clouds, and burn across the sky, turning it into a sea of flames. A vast expanse of emptiness stretches underneath the alit clouds. The land is hot and dry, no seeds are germinating; no plants are growing; no animals are living. The sunrays have penetrated deeply into the ground, leaving huge cracks, splitting the land into millions of pieces. Nothing is in sight, apart from two fronts drawn between the Spartans and Persians.
On one side, valiant Spartan soldiers stand uniformly. They are highly disciplined, but their growing impatience is becoming more and more apparent. Through their eyes, fierce anger and uncontrollable hatred is building. They seek revenge from the opponents whom stole their family’s lives; insulted their religion; pillaged their country’s wealth. The stallions are becoming restless, stamping their hooves loudly on the hard ground, eager to tear a gap in the enemy lines. Every man and animal is garbed in shiny armor, which, even in the dim sun, glitters. The morale of the army is building. The soldiers and steeds are hungry for blood.
