She couldn't breathe.
She sat in the mud, covered in blood and unable to catch her breath.
When one of her own would pass, she gave words of encouragement. She bolstered and gave solace to those who were grieving, she celebrated their victory, their hard won battle. All the while her breath caught in her throat.
The blood wasn't hers. That didn't make it stink any less, or prevent her from shuddering at it. Their task had been gruesome, but necessary. It had a tacky, almost gritty feel. She couldn't think about it, she needed to breathe.
“It's time,” Calyie said. Her second in command waited patiently, herself coated in dark, drying red. Interrupting her desperate search for air.
She gripped her spear tightly and moved for the first time in hours. It felt like she was breaking away from a stone prison that had kept her for millennia. She stood, feeling the darkness pressing around her, keeping her from drawing enough air.
Dawn was upon them, whispering hope into the stillness, promising something more, something better, something free.
She took a deep, filling breathe and watch the world around her gain definition. Turning towards the sun cresting over the mountains she tucked her spear close as she began to run. Her army was waiting for her to lead them. The war wasn't over, and she had work to be about.
Breathing could wait until later.
