"Clang" as the swords clash against each other, gleaming metal against shiny silver.
"Grunts" as the soldiers charge towards each other, muscle against muscle, sweat against blood.
And he pushes himself as far in to the ditch as he can, willing them not to see him. His eyes sharp and glancing around, his flexed muscles ready to react should a weapon be aimed at him, he struggles to stay alive.
He falls to his knees, pleading for mercy, as lightning flashes all around him. "Crack" and a bolt of lightning razes a tree to the ground in front of him.
Humbled, he surrenders.
And the storm clears. The mental images are distanced. No longer charging.
For now.
