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Huffud's (Kran's) centaurs, riding ahead, are surprised to find a most ordinary sight. Kislevite militiamen rushing forwards from the slowly rebounding villages, reaching for their bows, sabres and pistols, ready to rush meet any foe from behind their charred walls they used to call homes and which they soon will, if not stopped, call homes again. Huffud can, as always, butcher them, but she can also bypass them. Or perhaps, the ragged mobs shall listen to the great beast-cow if it bellows commands at them?
