ARENA OF THE POND
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The general heaved an immense sigh, and with an involuntary spasm of his knotted right shoulder muscle, he laid down his sword. From his vantage point he viewed the battlefield, the valley below rang with the clashing of steel, but he could afford to smile, for it was now obvious that victory was his.
The enemy had few remaining able bodied fighters, and their retreat was imminent, this was the good news he planned on greeting his emperor with.
He moved swiftly through the back lines of his army, dodging the men running back and forth from the sick tents, and the messengers. He was on his way to the tent erected far beyond the battle lines in which the emperor dwelt for the duration of the minor conflict. He reviewed the battle and concluded that although he had won, too many of his men had shed blood for it to count as a complete victory.
The general's mind cast itself back to reason for the war, his emperor had suddenly decided he wanted a small piece of land which belonged rightly to their northern neighbour. An insignificant area, which the enemy only fought over because they were expected to. The area would boost no-one's resources, nor take any villages.
Then the general remembered back to a few months before his emperor had plotted the invasion. To when he had been assigned to send an infiltrating squad of men to look for depositories of water across the borders. The emperor had made it clear this duty was of importance, though the general, for all his military wit and cunning knew not why.
"What would the emperor want with insignificant lakes?" He wondered aloud as he waited for the emperor to grant him an audience.
"Not lakes, my general."
The general glanced to see the emperor, a sprite yet aged man who always reminded him of a fox, looking at him from behind.
"Rivers? "Offered the general, not sure of his place.
"Ponds, general, ponds. I found a pond."
And with those words the emperor spun around and entered his tent, leaving the general pondering his last words.
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