Descent

The mahogany table stood on dirt, dust floating around in wisps of dry air. Its facade was covered with a map depicting the surrounding land's terrain, the edges torn and yellow with age. Red and blue pins stabbed into the table precariously, marking territories on the map. Dim light trickled from the hanging lanterns as they burned. Black coils wound their way heavenward, dancing for eyes unseen. The smoke exited the small hole on top the tent, its cotton fabric stained dark, blocking any light from the outside world.

The front flap of the tent flipped open, golden light from the fading sun piercing the shadows within. Veronica stormed through, yanking her sword from her waist, the belt catching at the black cotton of her pants. With a groan, she lashed out, sending the object across the room and crashing into the table. The soft thumps danced around the tent as red pins fell from the perch. She ran her hand through her layered mane, the hair flowing around her hand like liquid fire.

Warm light from the lamps cascaded over her, illuminating the dents and scratches on her marred armor. The brown flecks of dried blood decorated her chest plate, and a long groove ran through the middle of an arm covering. Veronica sighed as she picked up the pins, digging them deeper into the table. The tent cover slipped open once more, dust floating in as a silver haired man waltzed to the table, armor gleaming in the dim light. His mouth set in a hard line as he watched Veronica skewer the map, arms crossed.

Veronica leaned close to the map, hard eyes studying the terrain intensely. She ran a finger gingerly over the last pin, then flicked it, a small hum erupting as it vibrated. "We need to think of a new strategy, George. They are trying to surround us and it is working. They know our every move."

George slipped closer to the table, and pressed his finger on the vibrating pin. Veronica looks up to him, fire burning behind her brown eyes.

"Calm down, your Majesty," George said, drawing out his words.

"Our men are out there dying!" Veronica cried.

"Tis part of war, madam."

Veronica slammed her fist on the table, loosening another red pin. "You don't think I know that!" She turns away from the sliver haired man, taking a ragged breath in as she combed her fingers through her mane. Dust floated inches off the dry ground, covering Veronica's boots as she paced.

George leaned over the map, hand reaching for the rolling pin. He hissed, and dropped it back to the table as blood oozed from a prick on his finger. He quickly wiped the blood into the old map, staining the location of the loose pin. He shoved the pin back into place, and wiped the remaining blood on his silk shirt sleeve.

Veronica whirled around, hair flying. "Have we heard anything from the 3rd battalion yet?" The orange glow flickered through her hair, making it seem alive.

George stood tall, and said, "No ma'am. Nothing."

"Why not? Were they not your responsibility?"

George bit his cheek. "They were."

"Then get it together, General, and find out what their progress is. I will take over this battalion if I need to. Do not come back without them, George." Veronica demanded, eyes flowing over the map once more.

Clicking his heels, George saluted the young woman in front of him, grimacing.

#

George stormed out of the black tent, door flap popping behind him. He pushed through the crowd of soldiers whose skin gleamed in a sheen of sweat. Young men and women meandered throughout the camp, black uniforms worn, and ragged. George shook his head, disgusted. These were the soldiers representing his country, and they looked homeless.