The Deserter

The cacophony of war rings in her ears. The stomping of thousands of feet, the clang of weapons, the howling cries of soldiers and civilians. The fires flickering in fog and darkness. Smell of blood and death mixes with smoke and fills her nose. Her mind is overwhelmed.

Keep running, keep running, keep running… Tears fill her eyes. Mother, forgive my cowardice.

Soon there is nothing but darkness around her. Her feet stumble across the dirt and stone. Slowly her eyes adjust, and the shapes around her take form. Houses, half in ruin and charred, and bodies- oh, by the gods, the bodies. Her stomach churns, her senses are once again overwhelmed, and she falls to the ground. Then, the footsteps. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Each step a heartbeat, the gallop of a trained warrior. Somehow she finds the strength to get up. She scrambles off the ground and barges into the nearest building. She clambers over fallen furniture and finds a dark corner, hoping the rubble will hide her. There’s a weight in her hand; her eyes trail down to the sword which she’s still tightly gripping.

So it shall be this way, still? Am I to die with a blade in hand?

She grimaces at the weapon, trying to pick up the distant gallops. The seconds draw longer and longer. Then, the door flies open-

-and she is faced with a beast. A gargantuan shadow, just beyond the cracks in the rubble. She pushes herself deeper into the shadows. The beast walks forward, thud, thud, thud. Moonlight cuts through the cracked wall behind it, but it never seems to touch it, instead deepening the shadows of its form. Closer and closer, its steps are now a thunder rolling in her head.

Then, their eyes meet.

The grimace she sees knocks the air out of her lungs. Its mouth is a gash, its eyes two burning coals. A hulking form, spear in hand. She can hear its breaths, deep, growing into growling. One of them. Not human, not anymore, at least that’s what they’ve been told. The thing she has been running from all along.

Oh, Mother, please, make my death quick.

The moment stretches as they stare at each other. Locked in this instant, her mind races. Emotions flood her, until all that remains is fear. The sword in her hand shakes, her entire body shakes as she stares into the eyes of her demise.

The longer this singular second lasts, the more she realizes what she has to do. Her entire body revolts at the thought. Slowly, she steadies herself. Collects her breath. Entirely unsure whether she can succeed. Her eyes, a trained soldier’s eyes, trace the beast’s body, looking for any signs of attacks. Further and further, she sinks into herself, her emotions giving way to her instincts. Soon, her body was primed. Her legs were ready.

Oh, Mother, who made my death quick…

And she leapt, sword in hand, towards the beast.

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