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In the morning we pack up on our horses and begin to ride home.

The ride home is different. Our horses tiredly plod home instead of running like wild stallions.

The waterfalls glistened against the sunlight like excavated precious jewels and the mountains looked beautiful, off in the distance.

We get back into the walls and as our soldier floor back into the village, I see my brother.

In a wounded trailer. Bandaged up, covered in blood.

Fire (Levi Ackerman x Reader)Where stories live. Discover now