A gale-driven snowstorm slapped against their faces!
The wild wind swept up snowflakes and drove the fleeing cavalry and warhorses back. It was as though a wall of wind and snow surrounded them. The white flood dragon plunged into the crowd, hunting warhorses with complete abandon, swallowing one with every bite. In the Central Plains, it was rare to find so much flesh gathered in one place. Horse meat tasted better than pork.
Sharp claws came down, crushing screaming, fleeing people to death. When the claws lifted, they sometimes dragged up mangled corpses before dropping them again.
Its slender body twisted and writhed above everyone's heads as it hunted in an incredibly savage manner. It seized warhorses, flung the riders from their backs, then swallowed the horses whole. Fortunately, stirrups were not yet in fashion, so it did not have to swallow metal. The reins on the dragon-headed bridles were leather cords, and it could digest those just fine.
There was abundant bloody food—warhorses and a flock of sheep, enough to fill its belly.
The leader wanted to cry but had no tears. Giant claws fell beside him, crushing several people to death, while the enormous body overhead swayed about without the slightest restraint. One sweep of its tail brought a chorus of wails.
In a village some distance away, the villagers pointed toward the distance in confusion. Strange noises seemed to keep coming from over there.
After the time it took to burn an incense stick.
The white flood dragon, full at last, turned and flew away, leaving devastation in its wake. Blood soaked the snow scarlet. The survivors lay in the wind and snow, weeping bitterly. Not all the warhorses had been eaten; quite a few remained. Not a single Wolf Rider was left alive. The dead had