Contact with the enemy

Under the azure skies of the Epirotian countryside, eight Sicilian horsemen rode as scouts, their horses gracefully navigating the undulating terrain. Amidst the rhythmic hoofbeats, the riders engaged in a casual conversation about the spoils they had acquired during the recent sack of Arta.

One of the older riders, his grizzled features bearing the marks of countless campaigns, spoke up. "I've already decided what to do with my share of the loot. Every last bit of it goes to my family," he declared, a sense of responsibility evident in his weathered voice. "I'm too old for the revelries and the delights of squandering wealth. It's time to think about providing for those waiting back home."

His comrades nodded in understanding, acknowledging the wisdom that came with age and experience.