Swords grated against stones, to be plunged into flesh at dawn.
I had destroyed my widowed mother through my actions. After the death of my father, she had been fragile, and I had shattered her love and soul through my rash actions.
I knew my brother, her firstborn, was the better man, and yet loved less.
My mother looked at me coldly, pleading.
"You filthy liar, you always were begging at my mothers feet for her love, her attention."
“I would easily overpower you! But I will spare you today.”
The older man paused, a faraway look overshadowing his feature.
I heard snippets of dialod from those nearby
The peopled in my village – my family, my friends – their faces flashed before my eyes.
In front of me I saw men raise their pikes, the roughly made weapons having rust on them.
“I wish I were dead, instead of Jaran!”
I glanced down at my body, translucent and silver, floating next to Amara, who seemed unaware from me.
The soul rushed toward Amara by sighting her.
“May those traitors that fought against us be cursed for their treachery.”
This final battle would seal the fate of Esrydil forever.
My heart pounded fast, fluttering fearfully.
his face masked by shadows. His expression of concern and pity was obvious.
The hardened lines of worry would lessen on her face, and a ghost of a smile was in her eyes.
I stood up, turning away from the fire and Jaran. Ignoring the friendly banter and jokes from the other soldiers, I entered the small makeshift tent and rolled on my side, waiting for dawn. Through the thin cloth of the tent, I watched silhouettes of others walk back and forth. Eventually I drifted asleep.
The trumpeting horn echoed through the camp, growing steadily louder. I groggily stirred, looking at the light that filtered through the flimsy tent. The pounding hoof beats resounded, sending thundering vibrations through the ground. I hurried to stand up, fastening my chain mail shirt on and I began to prepare for the battle.
I grimaced, not wanting to hear the stories of loss and love that each soldier had. Failed hopes and final wishes were all that remained. This was war. Regrets were soon to be silenced by death.
We marched further, and I began to see faces of our enemies. Their expressions were calm and unfeeling, all personality and soul seemed to have left their eyes.
“Twisted, they are,” the man nest to me said.