AN: There are a lot of things I will never write about in Tamora Pierce's books. Primarily because the main characters cannot be written to satisfaction by anyone but Tamora herself. However, there is many a side-along story begging to be written. This drabble is exactly 500 words and is my debut into Tortallan fanfiction. Without further adieu save to say please read and review, I give you Stormwing. -Sable
Stormwing
Brown eyes swept the plains, taking in yet another field of dead bodies, broken weaponry, dead horses, and scavenger hunters.
The woman pulled her headscarf up to cover her nose and started on, refusing to glance down or to the side as she picked her way across the killing field.
The screams of the dying haunted her, and yet she could not stop to save them. And what were they dying for? Another swatch of land? Another king's pride?
She had seen too many wars.
The scavengers, stripping money and food, clothing and jewelry from the dead and dying soldiers, didn't speak to her. To them, she was the living and thus, had nothing they could take without struggle. There were richer pickings among the dead anyway.
Her sandals were soaked through with blood; the hem of her once flawless, sky-blue robe was stained with gore. She had no more tears left to cry for them.
At the beginning of this war, just like all the others, there had been causes. There had been glory and honor and duty. And now there was just blood. So much blood that she thought she would drown in it if she tripped and fell.
Shadows passed over her and she looked up to see ravens, crows, vultures, blackbirds- anything of the wing that could eat the dead. Hordes of them alighted on the bodies.
She walked on, deafening her ears to the sick rend and tear of flesh, the wet slap of a dropped intestine, the sound of birds shrieking at birds over the remains of human carnage.
She walked on through the day and night, crossing the field and melting into the forests at its farthest reach. She didn't stop, instead only pausing at a steam to scrub her feet of the blood before continuing to travel. She walked for the next three days, driving herself to exhaustion to forget the sight, the scent, the sound of the dead.
When she slept, she dreamed.
One of those poor soldiers, staring up at her in death, his mouth wide in a sick, agonized grin. She watched with horror as his legs were eaten by other corpses, then his arms, then his waist. Then the great, awful, bloodied birds came and chased the corpses away. They feasted for themselves, plucking at tongue and eyes and heart. She reached forward, taking one bird in her hands and shoving it into the corpse through its chainmail, melding them, making one. The creature rose and flew away, its chest and head that of the screaming soldier, its body that of a great metal bird. Where ever it flew, it desecrated the dead, striking terror and revulsion into the hearts of those who would wage war.
The woman bolted upright off the forest floor, screaming, sobbing, tearing her hair.
In the diving realms, Ganiel caught a silver dream and held it in his hands to show his brothers and sisters.
They agreed with him, and it was so.
-end-