a bellowing dragon advances. its eyes burn, its scales gleam from light shining from within. it snorts fire from its nostrils.
arthur and his men charge into the enemy ranks. lot's and uryens' people are pushed into the moat. although the water is only waist-deep, the fallen, weighed down by their armor, drown. the horses of the attackers are brought down, arthur's among them. he pulls out from under it, limping. bleeding form wounds, cutting, slashing, thrusting, he falls back from the havoc of the charge.
arthur fights like a wounded lion at the center of the savage melee of sword and shield, and once again the two sides fall apart.
uryens stands towering above the boy. he smiles enigmatically. he lifts excalibur.