Battlefield

They always wore white into battle.

Kafira’s spear lashed out and exploded through the man’s neck, dropping him like a sack of meat. Dancing to the side she dodged the swing of a man twice her size, she spun and drove her spear deep into his chest. Planting the butt of the spear into the ground she let the man’s weight drive the spear haft through his body, with a small grunt she pulled the spear free and charged into the next cluster of men.

Kafira could only see glimpses of Anci, flashes of white and silver between the bodies of men separating them. As Kafira tried to determine the best path to reach her, a massive club came screaming towards her face. She ducked but the club grazed her head, sending a stream of blood down her face and her to the ground.

Immediately she rolled away from her assailant, into the legs of another man who toppled backwards onto Her. The spear was trapped and her knife hand was pinned under the struggling form on top of her. The man with the club stepped up to finish the job when a war axe blossomed from his chest. A blur of white ripped the man’s throat out and he fell, crushing the man atop Kafira.

A petite figure dressed in white and dripping with blood looked down at Kafira and grinned.

“Stop laying around, we have work to do.”