Growing Up
objective: less than 700 words
Keladry of Mindelan looked over the expanse of destruction. Trees had been razed, grasses burned, carefully plowed fields overturned and stained red. The dead had been transported away, buried to enrich the soil with their nutrients, and yet the ground still smelled of rot. The blood spilt coloured the fields surrounding Haven, tainting the whole sacred place with death and violence that no amount of washing could seem to rid.
The fight had been slow and laborious but ultimately won by the Tortallan side. To what pro? How much death would be needed to show people that death was wrong? Leaning on the wall she felt both Dom and Neal joining her silently. She was glad to have them there, glad to know they were alive and well, glad to have two of her most favourite people in the world on her side.
Truthfully, the place reminded her of Mindelan. With the rolling green hills, the long grassy fields, the forts that could only be the work of northern woodsmen... the place was so much like Mindelan that she could almost see herself running as a young child, chased by a brother or a sister. Playing with the village children, teaching herself to shoot a bow. This was all before the Yamani Isles, of course. Back when life had been much simpler.
Beside her Dom too stared out at the place. He saw everything she did, but, being the more cheerful of the two, saw much hope as well. They had defeated the enemy's most recent attempts to slide past, and they had lost relatively few. Though Kel would deny it profusely, it was mainly due to her careful training and commanding abilities that they had survived relatively unscathed. He had lost two men of his squad. Two out of ten. It was a lot and he would miss them terribly. He had known their lives, their pasts, their wishes for the future, their lady-loves. He suffered dearly for their passing. He'd had to endure an excruciating hour writing reports to Sir Raoul and Lord Wyldon. He really hated those things, especially when the grief was still so fresh.
Neal felt absolutely wiped out. He'd spent the better part of the last day in the infirmary, watching firsthand human suffering and deaths he couldn't stop or even control. Nothing hurt him more than having to let somebody die in his arms simply because he no longer had the strength to heal them, or because there was just nothing he could do. There was nothing he could imagine worse than that. They'd lost so many... less than the thricely-cursed Scanrans, but much more than he would have even imagined. Looking out he saw the wilting of his every hope. When would this war end? How many would he lose?... how many would be lost? Sometimes he wished he were still a child when life was simpler, when he'd never seen death and figured he never would. Back when life had seemed so innocent and good... back when he'd been young and naive and happy, back when he wasn't haunted by nightmares with blank, staring faces.
Many a star on warm summer nights
does shine indeed, edged with silver lights
They clear paths for you and I
travelling guided by the dark midsummer sky
towards greatness, vicious weapons sheathed
our souls exhaled pale with every breath breathed
Songs of our childhood swirl and dance
hypnotized and naked, slave to our moon's white expanse
crazed with emotions, grief over the past
remembering remembering the day before last.
Fairies sparkle unnervingly bright
floating over the world, faces drawn tight
broken by Time who refuses to kneel
whipped by the death of those who used to feel.
Shrieks race, tearing across the lights
forgotten and abandoned on those warm summer nights.
Small drabble inspired right after writing this poem.
Keep Reading,
xxTunstall Chickxx
3/10/10
