"D-dog's Breath…" She panted out- it was all she could think to say. He had to be killing her. It wasn't as if she hadn't done this before, but, as in everything, she had always been the aggressor. This one, though…he was keeping her on her toes, roughly biting at her neck and shoulders; driving her insane. She regained her bearings and tried to take control, pulling him closer to her. He wouldn't have it.

He caught her hands and pinned them to the wall with one of his own. The general's eyes widened; he had overpowered her as easily as one might a child.

"Who are you?" She asked in disbelief.

He didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to.

Minutes felt like years, and just when she thought she had him figured out, he proved her wrong, making her see stars. She dug her nails into his back, unable to remember when her hands had been freed. Then, without warning, he dropped her. She fell like a rock, crashing painfully to the floor. He collapsed beside her, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"You certainly know how to catch a lady's attention."

He snorted. "You're no lady."

She shrugged indifferently. "I guess not."

From there, they sat in silence, tugging on their clothes unhurriedly. When she was dressed again, she combed her fingers through her sweat-slicked hair, reaching for her lance. Overwhelmed by the sudden desire to really see him in action, she, with no warning, twisted her body, thrusting her lance toward him. He swatted it away almost lazily with the axe that had not been in his hand a mere second ago.

"If that's the way you treat all your bedfellows, I can see why Ashnard's so fond of you." He commented dryly, never even turning to look at her.

"Get up!" She urged. "You know we both want to see how we compare."

A moment's pause, then he pushed himself to his feet, raising his axe. "…Then come try me."

He won that round. She knew she would never get another.

But she did.

A few months later, she saw the boy again, fighting as fiercely as his father had. The boy had to die, and she relished the battle to come. There was something else that had changed in those life-altering months, something about his stance. He looked even more like his father, and she wanted to kill him all the more for it. Their fight was long and fierce. Each gave as good as they got, taking hits that would cripple a lesser fighter, and fighting on. She finally found an opening, but just as she prepared to strike with her lane she couldn't understand why her opponent wore that grim smile. She looked down and saw the sword protruding from her slightly rounded abdomen. She felt the ice traveling up her chest from the wound, and she couldn't resist laughing at the irony.

"What does it feel like, boy?" She asked, struggling to speak as her life drained away.

"To know that I've killed you, witch?"

"No." Her body was wracked with her own weak laughter, squeezed from her last breath. "That you've just killed you own brother."


Please forgive me. I have no idea what this was or how it escaped from my pen... I know that it's pure insanity, but...please review anyway? You obviously went to the trouble of reading it if you're looking down here...