"Stop them, don't let these green-skinned rats get through!"
Wrinkles crowded his face, his head full of white hair, a man around fifty, thin in build, stood in the middle of the dirt road marked with footprints between houses, shouting loudly.
Behind him, the hasty backs of children and the elderly could be vaguely seen rapidly retreating towards a temporary granary located in the center of the village, which housed a large cellar completed many years ago and was equipped with enough supplies and food for dozens of people to live on for half a year.
In front of him was a defensive line formed by the villagers.
There were strong men wielding inherited longswords, burly rural women tightly gripping grass forks, and even slightly further back stood a few thin, nervous-looking boys around fourteen or fifteen years old, their expressions filled with determination, without the slightest thought of retreat.
