The sound of the other children sniffling and whispering was easy for the adults to overlook. She knew this well. Even as she gripped her blade, knowing she had volunteered for this, knowing she had claimed she could win this battle, she began to have doubts. They were scared.
It was easy for the adults to miss. Not her.
They were supposed to divert attention from the main warband, draw the Demacians to the side and cause their weaker forces- the dead men walking who would only get in the way of the true fight- to thin. She had claimed they would eliminate the weaker forces and flank the Demacians as the main warband attacked the front. Dahlia was beginning to regret her decision.
She pulled her helmet off, ash-black hair falling to her shoulders as she let the steel drop. It would be of no use- many Demacian soldiers could cleave it off without an effort. Eyes that many called copper flame looked upon her own, scanning for those children liable to run. Quietly, she knelt beside each one, and swapped their blade for a shortbow.
From a distance, at least they could be useful in some way.
They were children. She was the oldest there at thirteen, and easily one of the better-fed. She was the tallest, standing at nearly five foot six- tall for a girl her age. Her father boasted of it when he was drunk, saying that no man would tower over his daughter. It didn't stand helpful here.
The screech of a Noxian hawk pulled her from her inner workings, whirling on her heel and reaching out an arm for it to land upon. Sure enough, a letter was on its back, stamped by the General- her father. Darius' seal was easy to recognize after growing up around it. She called the children close, demanding whatever flame there was to be brought as she looked within.
Orders. Numbers. Strategy. Diversions and nonsense that would only work if she had full warriors. The orders were simple- to kill as many as they could before they died. Retreat was not an option. The number of Demacians was concerning- they were outnumbered nearly three to one. In the Demacian home territory.
She definitely regretted her claims now.
"If any of you want to run, do it now. Once this begins, there is no retreat. You'll be killed for doing so."
She was more surprised to hear the lack of feet shuffling than she was to her the soft snicker of blades being drawn. At least they weren't cowards.
Quietly, she positioned them. Directed them to group on separate sides of each path they were going to drive the enemy down, covered them in the plants surrounding them. Those who were liable to run and holding bows were positioned in the trees, holding the line above. They could not wait for nightfall. This was a make or break move, and the main warband was counting on the distraction to attack in force.
It was nearly an hour before the entirety of her warband was in place. It was hard. Many could barely stay still. Some were hardly awake by the time they were ready. She knew it would pay off in the end, and bring them at least a semblance of a victory.
A deep breath, and she pressed the horn to her lips. It was the same one that the main warband often used, so the camp would be confused- that was what they were counting on, anyway.
It sounded like the dying wail of a horse.
The first Demacians came down. They ran past, skidding to a stop when they found the empty campsite. The fires still burning. They didn't even see the kids that stabbed them in the back.
And then the real fight began.
Those who hadn't focused on those who ran behind darted out, following her as she met the captain head-on; he was bigger than she was by half a foot, and wielding a greataxe. At least she could fight that. Her shield rose to block the axe, the blade drawing as she dived for the knees. It was satisfying to watch a man doubt her for her size.
They all fell that much harder for it.
Those behind him were muddled. They were easy for her blade to end, even as her band began to falter around her; arrows flew from behind, falling from the boughs like a rain of Hell. It was easy for her to get lost in the lull of battle. She lost track of time, of movement, of sound-
And she was slammed to the side.
She scrambled to get up, eyes finding her assailant- a corporal, judging from the insignia. If he took her down, he'd get a promotion, for sure- if Demacians worked like Noxus, anyway. She was slow to raise her blade to parry the next strike, slow to get to her feet and stumble back- he was stronger than she was. She hadn't anticipated this.
She tripped in the dirt, falling to her back, and crossed her arms over her, hidden under the shield. The pain when it broke through, going through the first arm, was enough to make her scream and nearly black out.
She wasn't sure who had come behind until she saw the man assaulting her fall to the side, and caught the faintest glimpse of the red cape that accompanied her father everywhere he went. His face said she had a lot to explain, even as he grabbed her by the injured arm and shoved her back towards her original camp. Her warband followed her as she listened to the silent order.
She wasn't sure if she hit the ground before she blacked out.
