The murder flew across the twilight sky, their great, black wings flapping like the banners carried by the soldiers they surveyed down below. They watched as the soldiers drew their swords and began to strike at each other, the clash of metal against armour and skin creating a throng of chaos and destruction as men screamed and fell.

The crows observed as the soldiers continued to fight, their shining armour quickly becoming stained with dirty, red blood. Had they not been animals, with no comprehension of greed, spite or any other feeling that would drive these men to mercilessly slaughter each other, they would have been mortified by their lack of conscience.

Eventually, the fighting stopped and the victorious army began to march away, leaving nothing but imbrued bodies behind them. Upon seeing this, the murder swooped down and began to feast. They drove their beaks into the fresh meat of the wounded and dead soldiers, tearing out great chunks of skin and muscle before swiftly gulping them down and driving their beaks back into the flesh for another bite.

At one point in time, these men may have been proud citizens of their respected countries, with happy families and respectable professions or they could have been nationalistic zealots, with miserable, abused family members and wretched, pathetic jobs. Whatever their lives were like, it no longer mattered, because now they were nothing more than carrion.