"To the Horde." But only half took up the cry. The rest, like Thomas, heard the bite in Samuel's voice.

"To the stinking, bloody Horde who butcher our children and spread their filthy disease through our forests!" Samuel cried, voice now bitter with mockery.

Only a few took him up. "Stinking, bloody Horde."

"Our friends, the Horde, have sent their apologies for taking the life of our own three days ago. They have sent us all a gift to express their remorse, and I have brought it to our Gathering."

Samuel stuck his hand out, palm up. A dark object sailed forward, lobbed by Petrus, son of Jeremiah, and Samuel snatched it out of the air as if it were a water bag needing to be refilled. He tossed it onto the ground. The object bounced once and rolled to stop where firelight illuminated the fine details of their prize.

This was a head. A human head. A Horde head with a mane of long dreadlocks, covered in disease. A chill snaked down Thomas's spine. This, he thought, was the beginning of the end.

Green
Copyright 2009 by Ted Dekker
Published by Thomas Nelson 
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