Blood and guts stained his silvery sabatons.
Surrounded by fallen foes, Sir Janos of the White Hart loomed over one lifeless heap. Scorn shone in his eyes. He cackled, panting.
The peasant's face was pale, and flies swarmed those eyes that stared back at the knight.
Hotspur spat, and lifted his great antlered helm skyward. He looked to his brothers-in-arms. "Tandem Triumphans!" he roared, glorious.