I pushed the small wisps of my blonde hair behind my ear, before looking around the embers and ashes. Nine years. That's how long the ashes have stained the land where I grew up with my family. We were a peaceful lot, living in the plains of Rohan, near the border of Gondor. My father was well-known in both, and highly respected too. He lived happily here, with my mother, my brother and myself; a loving family who were living a simple life, in a small village.

My brother was three years older than me, and volunteered for the Rohan army when he became old enough. But, he was rarely called for anything, so he helped my father teach me some of the tricks that would save my life when the time called for it. They taught me how to fight with a sword, and how to fire a bow with killer accuracy. I began training at thirteen years of age, and I was eighteen when I first truly understood why they had taught me to fight.

One late morning, after Mid-summer's Eve, a wild screech was heard in the valley. The sound was unfamiliar for me, at first, but when all the men in the village stopped whatever they were doing and headed straight to the community armoury, where their weapons were stored, I knew something must be wrong.

All the women began to panic, and I still remember, my mother trying to get me back into our house, her clear blue eyes brimming with tears.

That's when we saw the armoury go up in flames, with flaming arrows being launched at the thatched roof, setting it alight within seconds. My mother screamed, as did the other children and their widowed mothers. They all began running away in fear, while I ignored my mother's pleas for me to stay with her, and sprinted to a hidden tree, where my father left my own personal weapons, that were my birthday gifts when I turned Sixteen.

I reached the tree and pulled out my bow, the matching quiver, and my twin daggers, when I heard the snarls of a wolf. I turned to find a warg staring me down, ready to pounce on its new victim. Without a seconds thought, I pull an arrow out of the quiver, load it into the bow and fire it directly into the wolf's skull.

My father and brother, who hunted for food almost everyday, had educated me on some of the creatures that lurked in the shadows and lowlands of the world. Warg packs were one of those that they educated me most on. They kept saying that Wargs always travel in packs, and never as a lone wolf.

My eyes went wide at the thought. Where were the others? Before I could even comprehend what was going on, more flaming arrows soared into the air and set the remaining houses alight. Screams of those still trapped filled the air, and I couldn't help but rush to help. They would do the same.

I tore my eyes away from the ashes, and began retracing my steps from that fateful day. I walked up the cracked path, to the site of the armoury, and though I was hardly sentimental, I felt like crying and falling to my knees, seeking submission. This was the place my father, brother and the rest of the male population of the village was killed. The smoke must've been horrendous in the cramped conditions and the jarring door made sure that none of them escaped.

The thought of smoke brought me back into my memories.

I ran back into the village, my long archer's dress billowing behind me as I ran, the smoke from the houses and homes of my neighbours filling my lungs as they gasped for air. I heard the screams, and pushed open the door of the nearest house. Two children were cowering in the corner of the room, away from the flames, from certain death. They were just seven years old. I rushed over and helped guide them away from the flames. As soon as they were free, they ran in search of their mother, as I moved deeper into the village.

I heard the metallic sound of armour, and I stopped in my tracks, as I came face to face with a band of orcs, but they hadn't noticed me yet. They were going into each of the houses, and slaughtering any of those left inside. Their screams still haunt me to this day. They ransacked, and pillaged without mercy. It sickened me, and the smell of burning human flesh was becoming a very disturbing smell in my nose, and I had to stop myself from gagging. From who was burning alive. The screams stopped, and only the sound of the orcs' laughter and of crackling fire were left.

I began breathing through my mouth, as the stench became too much to bear, and two orcs came walking down towards me, and I ducked away. Only it was too late. They had seen me. One drew their black bow and fired away, never looking at who it was, only to see them dead. The arrow skinned my right arm, ripping the fabric away and cutting my skin.

I gritted my teeth through the pain, as I loaded another arrow and fired, just hitting the orc with the bow, and then the same action to hit the other one.

Their bodies slumped to the ground noisily, and the other Orcs turned to look. Directly at me.

I gasped aloud, as I relived that fateful day in my mind. Looking at the clear midday skies, I could still see the smoke that was visible from both Minas Tirith and the golden hall of Meduseld. Neither sent aid, as both rulers were either under the control of the bastard Wizard, Saruman, or still grieving over the death of their wife, even though it's been almost twenty years since then.

I ran, but I didn't get far, as the Orcs fired again, and one arrow pierced through the skin on my left calf. I screamed in pain, as I fell to the ground, and couldn't will myself to get back pain wa making me dizzy, and I rested my head of the ground, exhausted.

Footsteps grew closer, and I felt pain on my back – one of the orcs had placed their foot on my spine.I opened my eyes, and saw, out of the corner, the orc raising its mace, ready to make a deathly blow, which I braced myself for.

But another one, came and ripped the mace from its grip, growling "Keep HER alive." It looked down at me, and spat in my face, before talking to me directly. "Do you hear that, scum?" He sneered. I heard nothing, until a feminine scream chorus filled the air, accompanied by dozens of warg growls. "That's the rest of your village." He looked away, and I couldn't see what he had his eyes on.

But I felt it. He grasped the arrow that was embedded in my leg, and twisted it. I screamed louder that I had ever done before. It was letting out everything that I had felt so far that day; loss, pain , sorrow, regret, despair and so much more pain.

Still twisting the arrow, he whispered menacingly in my ear "This is your only chance; join the Dark Lord, or you will face the same fate as them."

"Go to hell, you mangy creature!" I screeched through clenched teeth. "I would rather die, than join your side!"

He stopped twisting the arrow and stood up. He raised his foot and said "I thought as much" before bringing his heel down on my nose repeatedly, breaking it, and knocking me out cold. The last thing I heard was the sound of screams that belonged to my Kin.

The next thing I remember, is waking up in the middle of the night, staring up at the starry sky. I sat up sharply, but ended up doubled over in pain, from my leg, my chest and my skull. I looked down, as my vision wavered, to see the arrow removed from my leg, but a gaping hole remained.

My dress was singed at the edges, and was at least eight inches shorter than before, and was covered in a fine line of a grey dust. Putting two and two together in my head, I realised that the orcs had tried to burn me, and that's when the memories of the entire incident came crawling back. But I didn't feel like crying anymore, I felt exactly the opposite; hatred, revenge and fury. I wanted to hurt the ones who did this so badly, that it wouldn't make me any different from them.

Wrapping my injured leg up, and gingerly getting to my feet, as to not make my head giddy once more, I limped through the remains of the village. Even in the dark I could make out the burnt bodies that were my old neighbors and friends, and the mutilated ones that had been caught by the Wargs.

And that day, I made a promise to myself, that I would get revenge on those that did this, that caused so much devastation here, or die trying. I would hunt down my prey like the animal nature that was awakened inside of me; like the wolf I believed I was.

I would say goodbye to anything good in my life for nine long years, before seeing this promise fulfilled in one way or another.

I would say a fond farewell to joy and anything I thought would steer from my objective; relationships, and anything that seemed forgiving.

But the young child in me was buried deep that night, but speaks out in my targets. My reasons.

I do this, so no one should feel the pain and horror I felt that day, and I wished that no one should EVER be left alone again, leaving myself out of the picture.

But someone would paint me back in.