Meet me on the Battlefield

Smoke slowly stretched out reaching for the sky, bodies lay in heaps like boulders in a field. Figures moved about like ghosts, slow, clothes swaying in the air.

Among them sat a single figure, head resting on the bunt of her sword, tears falling, leaving white streaks behind them.

The wind softly floated across the field, taking with it the tale of what happened here. People will speak of it for years, they will talk of the great deeds have been done.

They will speak of how the moon took her course, the fighting not stopping until her brother was at the peak of his journey, but the old, the wise, they will speak of siblings torn asunder just like those great celestial bodies.

They will speak, eyes glistening with unfallen tears, of how swords clashed like thunder, the dying screamed out in their last moments, of great heroic beings standing back to back, faces splattered with blood.

 Above them, the moon painted ruby red in her blood lust, her light hiding the color of the battlefield.  Of how the whistling of arrows, through the air,  and the brutal sounds of fighting, drowned out the approaching horse.

Two blades falling through the air, tumbling to the ground, one drop from shock, the other out of horror. Her brothers startle cry, as he was snatched by the black rider and swept off across the battle, headed for the forest, chilled her to the bones. After them, she raced, pushing, unarmed, through the waves of fighters.

Stumbling into the woods, her heart racing, screaming after her brother, shouting for the rider to stop, like a doe she flew after them. Through the forest, she ran, barely keeping her brother insight, the flash of black and her brother's endless cries, had her pushing on.

The glistening water of a river had her stumbling to a stop, almost falling into the rapids. The water's roar filled the are, like lions guarding there kill, unpassable. On the other side stood the black rider his cloak billowing in the wind, her brother reaching out to her.

She looked up pulling her self from her memories, unseeing eyes looking out on the setting sun, red, filled sky as the sun sunk lower, slowly she took her sword in hand holding it out before her.

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Across the battlefield a soldier, searching for survivors, looked up, eyes going to his commander, who sat on a rock head resting on the bunt of her sword, she slowly stood up eyes fixed on the horizon. A model of bravery, strength, and courage.

The soldier's eyes grew wide as he yelled out, she fell, blood pooling around her. At his shout others looked, yells filled the air as they raced towards their commander.