“Can you see it?” His voice lingered, encompassing Talia. The warrior’s whisper speaks once every seventeen years to only one from the all three of mountain villages.
“I can,” Talia sings proudly, her voice a melody of hope. She closes her eyes. Warm blood splatters across her face from a bristled brush and the hand of the chief.
The surrounding crowd is silent, but the passion coursing from their war-scared bodies deafens the stars.
Their neighboring wolf pack howls on the mountain ridges. Talia’s eyes open. Her purple and black hair waves the wind. Her full mouth spreads in a proud grin as she stands up. Talia draws her sword from the fire.
“I will lead you fearlessly to victory. One by one we’ll take all eight of the Dead tribes. The nature touched will own that lands again.”
Howls of victory, of hope, and of ignorance mix with the wind’s clutches alongside the howls.
A new era has risen.
*This is a very small piece to a very large project I’m working on. There will be much more to come here.
Enjoy your Tuesday.