The crier folded up the parchment and shoved it up his sleeve. Giving his bell a last vigorous shake, he shouted, “That is all!” And then began to cut his way through the crowd.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Asked a high-pitched voice in the crowd. Nobody replied. Before the Crier could untether his horse, a burly villager grabbed his arm.
“Not so fast, buddy,” His deep bass voice boomed. The owner of the first voice, a blonde-haired woman came up from behind the Crier and shouted, “You can’t just leave us here to flounder while the enemy comes to burn our crops, kill us and our livestock—” She paused for a moment, as if in thought, and then blurted out, “—or worse!”