War is not a good experience. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, adrenaline filled, yes, but once the anticipation of the first battle dies, you're left with a hollow, sad feeling in the depths of your heart. A taint that will last you the rest of your life. You've seen people die, you've probably even caused some of those deaths on the field.

At first, you feel nauseous, then sorrow and regret fill every pore in your body until you need to expel it in some way. Then comes blame. Someone is at fault, and you don't want it to be you. It makes you infuriated, so much that you lash out at anyone nearby, or you bottle it up, harbouring dark feelings and letting it fester, growing on the taint, and bursting into something vile. Each warrior has their own way of dealing with those emotions, but Aria wasn't a warrior. She was never meant for this battlefield.

The kingdom of her people had expanded beyond their normal reach, touching borders to two other kingdoms. The royal family pushed their reach into the no-man's land; a barren desert in the middle of nowhere. They were met with resistance. A wiser person would have backed off, created a visible border, sent an ambassador, and made a peace treaty with their neighbors.

Not all royalty are wise.

At first, there was news of simple skirmishes in the desert. Soldiers came back dehydrated, bruised, and dazed. More were sent into the desert, and even less came back in worse condition, this time with missing appendages, wrapped gashes that were stained red with blood...It wasn't going to stop the King from expanding his territory. Entire patrols were lost to the tempestuous winds and sands.

Several weeks and a number of patrols later, Aria's mentor was drafted into the war, if it could be called that. With no other mentor available, her apprenticeship was null and void if she didn't follow, so she trekked with him into the desert.

They were equipped with unbalanced one-handed swords that sent an ache through Aria's wrist the moment she tried to lift it. They had very little armour to their small army of an estimated three hundred soldiers and trainees. Her own engulfed Aria's form, made for a man twice her size. The boots she wore sunk into the sand with each step she took. Her mentor stared blankly ahead as they marched, ignoring the glances and all her attempts to make conversation. The next day was the same, marching in line, making no conversation, and staring blankly ahead.

The third day of marching never came.

The group had made camp for the night, most having gone to bed early, others sat up staring into the camp fire.

"Where are we even headed? This is so stupid." One of her comrades grumbled, stoking the fire with a small stick.

"Who cares."

"I care. I shouldn't be here, I should be worshipping the three Gods, singing in the choir with Master Aram. I should be asleep in the-" The blond boy was shoved as another soldier sat down between him and Aria.

"You want some sleep, go lay on your roll. We're all stuck here. You don't see the girl complaining."

Aria looked up from the flickering flames. A heavy hand gave her shoulder a warm squeeze, and she smiled in kind. The soldier next to her was a burly sort of fellow with a dark brown beard and bright blue eyes, friendly eyes with deep crow's feet. He was one of the few soldiers who hadn't been drafted, but had willingly come if his fitted armour was anything to tell by.

"How you holding up,girly?"

"Exhausted, but I can't sleep."

"That's just yer nerves. You'll get used to em. My ole pal Rory used to always get sick the night before a battle. Don't know how he knew when an attack was coming, but hours before he'd just roll over and get good 'nd sick in the bush. He'd come to the front line with his pauldrons on backwards and his sheath upside down. Why, this one time he got real sick. I mean like sick sick. He had us up all night, thinking we were gonna get ambushed. Our swords were drawn and we'd surrounded him with our backs to him while threw up in a hole he'd dug in the dirt." A grin lit across his face.

"Me friend, Mac got so spooked that when a squirrel came running down a tree he shrieked and threw his sword into the tree the squirrel was on. Completely missed the squirrel, but his sword sure damn near stuck itself in the tree. It took three of us to help him pull it out of the tree. We'd heaved and heaved. On the last heave, we pulled so hard the guy on the end fell on top o' poor Rory who was still being sick and that hole. Good man almost drowned in his own upchuck. The worst part, there wasn't even a battle coming ahead. He was just plain ole sick off of some food he'd eaten. Poor fella never stood a chance against that lizard."

He trailed off, a solemn silence filling the air. The smiles on their faces straightened out grimly. Aria glanced back at the fire.

A howl in the silence of the night jostled everyone for a moment. Aria looked towards the desert, but there was nothing to see except sand, a few rocks, and even more sand beyond that.

"BOO!"

The blond choir boy gave a high pitched shriek and fell off the rock he was sitting on.

"Now don't be scared little man, there ain't nothing out here but us and the wolves. They ain't gonna harm us."

"No, you should be more afraid of Bjorn. Bjorn of the Log Pile"

"Now hey there… don't go telling them kids no crazy rumors."

"Oh don't worry. I won't tell them anything that didn't actually happen." Aria's mentor, Nicar, sat down on the opposite side of her.

"Why's he called Bjorn of the Log Pile?" Aria leaned forward to hear the story better. It kept her distracted from the chills running down her arm and the squirming feeling in the pit of her gut.

"Our dear friend Bjorn has a habit of drinking too much at parties."

"Do not."

"Shh...let him tell the story." Aria chided the burly man next to her. He huffed in response, crossing his arms.

"So Bjorn's just outside this grand party at the tavern when he and his friend, Mac, decide they want to spar. The bartender, Almet, tells them to knock it off or take it outside. So they go just outside the tavern. Between them they've only got mostly a full set of armour. So Bjorn gives Mac his lower armour while he takes the top. There's a small crowd around them by the time they actually start sparring. Two full grown men stumbling around taking swings at each other with the sheaths of their blades, since they forgot their swords at the bar." Snickering arose around the campfire.

"A few good thwacks, and the guards were pulling them apart telling them to not be a spectacle of themselves. They went off arm and arm, until they reached the split point between their houses. Bjorn makes his way home, only to find that his lovely wife has locked the door. He knocked a few times."

Nicar tapped his knuckles on the rock for good measure. "Then tried the back door where they keep their log pile for the fire. That was locked too. Instead of going back to the tavern and getting a room, he decided to take off the rest of his armour and his pants and fall asleep on the pile of logs. I came by to check on him."

"Pff.. if you count checking on someone as pu-"

"Shhh."

"I let him sleep in the woodpile, but not before making the sight for his wife a bit more.. viewable. I picked one of the lilies from the yard and stuck it right between his fuzzy butt cheeks." Nicar picked up some sand from the ground. Flames engulfed it and in its place lay a small red and orange lily that he tucked behind Aria's ear.

"Awww that's so sweet, ya missed the part where I woke up and used your magical head ter git through ma own door." Chuckles erupted around the campfire once more.

Out of the darkness beyond, an arrowed whirred through the air, lodging itself deep in the chest cavity of Nicar. His eyes grew wide, hand shakily coming up to touch the brown shaft before he fell limp, eyes blank. A scream tore through the air, and it was a while before Aria realized the scream was coming from her. A large hand grabbed shoulder and pulled her up from her sitting position, the hilt of a heavy sword shoved forcefully against her palm.

Shouts filled the air, the campfire smoke blinded the occupants of the camp, while everyone scrambled after the source of their attackers.

"Stay with me girly. I need you to focus." Bright blue eyes came into view, jarring her from the numb haze in her mind to the frightening reality of the ambush around them.

Swallowing hard, Aria nodded, her grip on the sword handle tightening. Bjorn moved them forward through the crowd of bustling soldiers, Aria following closely to his back. Their attackers were coming from all sides as far as she could tell. Somehow they'd been surrounded, and the scouts hadn't noticed.

Ahead, Bjorn yelled and the clash of metal rang through the air. Aria turned just in time to barely deflect the blow of a glaive with the longsword in her hands, the force of the assault made her nearly drop the blade. Golden eyes gleamed at her from the darkness. Instinctively, she stepped backwards only to press against Bjorn's armour.

The glaive came at her again, this time sweeping across the side. With no where to turn, Aria hefted her sword to meet the blow of the polearm, hands and arms going numb with the ring of metal on metal. Gritting her teeth, Aria swung the sword at her foe who merely side stepped out of the way. Mirth was reflected in the golden eyes, if only for a moment, before it was replaced by the blank shock as Bjorn's sword pushed through the warrior's side. Their body fell to the ground, Bjorn tugging his sword from the downed figure.

"You okay, girly?"

"Y-yeah." Her voice came out hoarse, her grip on the sword shaky at best.

"Good, keep up!" Bjorn took off into midst of the battle. Aria followed him to the best of her ability, the heavy armour she bore weighed down on her heavily. Her boots sunk into the sand, slowing her down to a sluggish jog. Their attackers practically floated on the sand, moving in the darkness as though they weren't mortal. Either way, no human being could be that quick, Aria decided.

Something darted towards her from the corner of her eye and she turned, lifting the sword just in time to block an attack to her back. The sword slipped from her hands, and she dove for it, cursing as her attacker tried to stick her like a pig. Pain bloomed in her side, drawing a strangled cry from Aria's throat. The large figure of Bjorn appeared over her, pushing back her enemy.

Bjorn was a madman on the field. For such a large man he moved quickly and efficiently, cutting down any who dare stand in his way. There were a few spots in his armour that were darkly stained with blood, although Aria wasn't quite sure whose blood it was at this point. Reaching down, he tugged Aria to her feet, shoving her discarded sword into her hands.

"Keep up, girly, we're almost out of the worst of it." Bjorn's voice bellowed, just barely audible through the commotion of fighting soldiers.

The salt of the cold sweat running down Aria's skin stung her eyes, blurring her vision with tears. It was slow moving through the crowd. Men fell all around them as the enemy advanced upon their forces. Were there really so many of the enemy that they outnumbered the three hundred that had marched into the desert, could they also the same reason the previous patrols had died? Another cloaked being with a glaive came at Aria, leaping high in the air over Bjorn's head, crashing down behind him. Aria hardly had time to move out of the way, stumbling over her own feet. The cold, blood soaked metal of the glaive sliced across her cloth covered arms, ripping the fabric and flesh. It wasn't a very deep cut, due to the cloaked figure attention switching to Bjorn as the large man swung his sword while he turned, clipping their attacker's back.

Aria clenched her fist, a feeling of hot fire welling inside her, channeling up her arm. Standing, she punched the cloaked figure from behind while they were focused on Bjorn. The fire inside her swept outwards through the punch, setting the attacker's cloak on fire. A muffled, high pitched scream was all their assailant could emit before the fire consumed them. Bjorn stared at Aria, eyebrows raised, mouth slack.

"So that's what Nicar was teaching you. Damn girl-" He froze, mouth open. They both looked down to his stomach, a glaive had pierced through his armour. Blood bubbled from his mouth. The glaive ripped out of his stomach and he fell forward on top of Aria. She wiggled frantically, trying to get out from underneath Bjorn.

"Be still."

Aria froze in place, her breathing shallow. The darkness was overwhelming, and the trickle of blood on her chest from the body of Bjorn lying over her had her stomach churning.

"Sleep. Play de...ad. Move now and ya-" Blood spattered above her head as the fatally wounded man spoke. "- forfeit life. Morning come, they'll be gone. Live." A rattling gasp and the weak heartbeat of Bjorn ceased.

There was very little Aria could do now except follow the last advice Bjorn would ever give her. She could still hear the sounds of battle around her. Each thud of a body on the ground, the sands shifting around her, the sounds of metal on metal, metal through skin. Every passing moment she breathed in the iron heavy air, was each moment she lived a little longer. Aria wasn't sure when she heard the last body fall to the ground, but the sounds of footsteps and people talking didn't disappear for a long time. Above, sand whipped through the air. It was even longer before the cold night turned over into an even hotter morning.

Aria scrambled out from underneath the armoured body of Bjorn, digging through a layer of sand that had settled on them overnight. She gasped for a breath of air not filtered by a body beginning to decompose. Sand had covered a good majority of the bodies, but it was still very clear that what happened here was nothing short of a massacre.

Like the scavenging birds that were settling down on the bodies, Aria began looking for anything that could be of use to her; particularly canteens of water. She found very few that weren't filled with sand or tainted by blood. The sun beat down on her armoured shoulders, drowning her in a tidal wave of heat. It took nearly an hour of searching for her to create a makeshift pack filled with supplies, cover herself in a black cloak to shelter herself from the direct rays of sunlight, clean and dress her sand covered wounds, and switch into something that was lighter and cooler than the heavy armour she'd been wearing.

As she made her way to the edge of the mass of dead, she noticed a dark figure standing by one particular body. Brown tired eyes looked up at her as she made her way towards the horse. It was a wonder that last night's assailants hadn't taken the war stallion, one she recognized as their patrol leader's new five year old. One look at his swollen back right hock, and she knew why they'd left him for dead. There was no point in keeping a horse they couldn't ride home to victory.

"Hey boy. I'm not going to hurt you." Aria spoke softly, her hands in front of her. The stallion chuffed, but didn't move as she reached up and rubbed the crescent moon on his forehead.

"Can you walk?" It was rhetorical, but even after she said it the horse took a few awkward steps towards her. He had a limp, which was to be expected. Aria frowned, scratching the horse's neck one last time before turning away. She had a long walk ahead of her and no way to care for a mount. The stallion lowered his head to the ground, snuffling his old master's face one last time before slowly limping behind her.

The sun rose high in the sky as the two figures made their way across the dunes of sand. The air before them simmered and wavered, dancing with the heat of this forsaken place. Sweat poured off Aria like the marble fountain in the middle of her Mentor's garden back home. Sure, the cloak kept the direct sunlight off her shoulders and face, but it didn't help when the hot winds whipped sand through the air, embedding particles in her clothing and skin. There was no place to stop, no tree to hide under, no secret oasis in the desert to relieve one's burdens at. The prints the two companions made in the sand went on and on for miles.

Aria had quit trying to shoo the stallion. She'd dug into her pack, used a bit of water from one of the canteens, cleaned his wound, and wrapped it. It might've been a waste of precious supplies, but it held the guilt at bay. She put the packs on the horse's back, relieving weight off her shoulders, ensuring that she could walk…just a little longer.

Just a little longer is what she kept telling herself. She keping saying those words a few hours at time, and then every hour, a little less than an hour, until it was a mantra inside her head. It didn't help her at all when they reached the top of a ridge and before them a large cloud of sand and dust filled the sky in front of her, like a giant wave threatening to crash down on them at any moment.

Aria stood frozen to the sand beneath her, a cold dread running through her veins as she stared at the endless mass before her. Denying her instincts, she did the only thing she could think of, she hunkered down, wrapped her cloak around her so that it covered her entire head, making a decent filter for her nose and a blindfold for her eyes. The war horse, whom she had begun to call Titanius or Titan for short, laid down next to her and she covered his face with part of her cloak, holding tightly to the young stallion's thick neck.

Sand pelted them from above and behind. It felt like tiny pinpricks all over her back, miniscule daggers that embedded into her clothes, and edges into seams. The storm lasted nearly an hour, passing over the two, leaving them no worse for wear. Shakily, Aria stood up, dusting out her cloak and the horse's gear as best she could before repacking everything. She took a few moments getting feeling back into her legs, and checking on the bandages of her companion's leg and her own side.

Their journey continued into the night, where temperatures dropped and the winds picked up. Where the day's winds had been burning hot, the wind at night was a cold burn, intent on freezing Aria. A half moon hung in the sky, guiding her path eastward. She didn't have a lot of material to maintain a fire, and the magic that burned in her blood was unreliable at best. When she did stop, she found very little sleep as she huddled against the warm mass that was her horse.

It was some time before the sun began rising that Aria opened her eyes from an unrestful half sleep. The bandages were checked, water was drunk, and then they were walking once more, one arm slung up on the withers of Titan for support.

Halfway through the day she ran out of water in the last canteen. That was when the odd prickly vegetation nearby called her over. The sharp long thorns it bore pricked the skin and if she wasn't careful when cutting open the odd red bulbs, easily embedded into the flat of her hand. Still, it was worth it when the cut open bulbs produced a slightly milky substance that was slightly sweet and acidic tasting. She offered a bit to the horse, but he sniffed at it for a moment before turning his head away. Well, he wasn't a desert-bred horse, so maybe he didn't know what was good for him. The horse would come around when he got really thirsty.

Hours later, Aria fell to her knees as her stomach roiled and she emptied the lackluster contents onto the sand. Her stomach seized upon itself, and no amount of crying would make it stop. Aria didn't know how long she lay there in the sand, dry heaving as the contents of her stomach had all but disappeared and the desert sand swallowed up what she'd regurgitated.

A soft black nose nudged her arm. Aria turned on her back to stare up at encouraging brown eyes. Her legs shaking, she used the horse's body as her own support, clinging to the saddle. Aria took a step forward and fell into the sand once more. This time, when she got up, she clambered into the saddle. Titan didn't seem to mind, ears flickering back towards her lazily, before he began to plod forward into the desert with Aria slumped over the cantel of the saddle. It was some while later that she slowly slipped from the saddle to relieve her bowels. There was no place to truly to hide herself as she did her business, so she was stuck digging a hole in the sand and hoping for the best. She tossed away the sullied cloth she used to clean herself up before pulling herself back up on the horse.

The setting sun reddened the sky when they reached the top of a large sand hill overlooking a desert town. Aria clung to the saddle, desperately trying to keep her balance and her eyes open as Titan took the most direct down the hill and towards the entrance of the village.

Dimly, Aria heard shouting voices. She could see golden eyes, prominent noses and hair as red as the sunset surrounding her. Something nudged her side. That was all it took for her body to slip from the saddle, and the encroaching darkness to overtake her.