Breathe

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.

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.”