“Fuck” the sting of the wound makes her backpedal. The long slash begins to bleed on her forearm, tunic soaking crimson where it’s ripped. Her forehead was sweating, hair sticking to it. They had been fighting like this for quite some time. Though a smile etches onto her face, small but large enough for the man to see. He snarls, the one eye that isn’t covered glares at her. Laughing, she readjusts her hands on the great sword and swings at the taller man, ignored the pull and strain of her arms.

The sound of metal clashing repeats over and over as she swings the great sword, the last bit of light in the day shines off it. Looking like a shooting star as she swings it with seeming ease. She had realized this mission had gone to shit the second they stepped on the port of her old homeland. The familiar faces shooting daggers into her back but never into her chest. She had know that this would be where she’d part ways with her new found group. The second he ripped the little girl from her grasp to hand her over to the king. The adrenaline gave her a rush of endorphins but the anger was stronger.

She suddenly stops her assault on the taller man, sees the way he swallows air like he hasn’t breathed in days. She’s broken a sweat but her breathing was leveled, she knew she had one from the beginning. This was getting too long, he was getting on her nerves. She looks down at her hands, knuckles white against her hilt. She brings the great sword up, swinging it counter clockwise, stopping once she hits noon.

“You fool,” his voice is low, barely there. She almost didn’t hear him. Words spoken between haste breaths.

“You’re a traitor, you betrayed me. You took her from me.” He looks at her, then around them. Their, his, friends lay around them. Nothing is left. His hands drop his own sword. It thuds on the ground, his knees follow. Then he looks up at her.

“A traitor? I was never on your side to begin with”

She lets her great sword drop.