Rejoin your horde (time passes, and the girls make a move).

The city is in flames, and you see your warriors riding triumphantly back to the forest, leading stolen horses laden with gold, silks, casks of wine, and captured maidens. They cheer when the see you riding out on your great black horse, the little princess draped helplessly across your lap.

That night you make camp deep in the forest, posting watchers in case any fools from the city attempt to follow you. You feast well on the city-dwellers meat and wine, while your new **** Claire washes and bandages your wounds. Your men pile offerings of gold and treasure at your feet. The gold glimmers in the firelight. It is a good day. But you are more interested in the other plunder of the city.

"My warriors!" you cry, and an echoing cheer goes up in the forest camp. "You fought well, and have captured many slaves! Enough for every man of you to have a few more girls to warm your beds! As your warlord, I claim the right of first choice. Bring out all the girls you captured from the city. The youngest and prettiest are mine by right, and you may keep the rest for yourselves."