"One more day," you whisper to yourself ferverently as you stride up the path that leads to the azgeda camp, the great trees that bracket you creating long shadows in the late afternoon sunlight. Beams of light pierce through the canopy above your head, intermidertly basking your face in brief splashes of warmth before your profile is once more dappled with shadows. "One more day, one more day, one more day."
One more day until you will ride from the city of Polis and begin your march to the plains outside of tondisi and you can barely wait. If you had thought that the city had been chaotic over the past few weeks, Polis since the arrival of the azgedakru was nothing short of a catastrophy.
It is clear that azgeda's arrival in the city was unwelcomed and it has caused great unrest within the other clans that are camped outside of Polis's gates, most of whom do not trust the Ice Nation, no matter their loyalty to heda and the coalition. After more than fifty years of bloodshed caused by your people, worst at the hands of Kwin Nia, whose torturous reign none would soon forget, you could not say that you blamed them. Your people were known for being harsh, to put their survival above all else and while your kru's strength earned them some respect, it was overshadowed by scorn and distrust. On any other occasion, you honestly could not have cared less about the suspicious stares that were now being directed towards you by what seemed to be every single inhabitant of Polis, but now it made for some unfortunate complications, ones that you could not abide by with the war against the Mountain so close at hand.
It had been different when it was just yourself and your guard, since your title brought fear and respect and your recent affiliation with the commander brought you a measure of trust within the other clans. But with a thousand hardened azgeda warriors at your back, their appearences wilder and more savage than the other members of the coalition, that respect had turned into anger and the meager amount of trust you had gained had seemingly evaporated the moment your people marched through the city's gates. The fact that the commander was yet to visit your camp as she had with all the others only heightened the distrust that was being directed towards the Ice Nation warriors.
It also didn't help that your people seemed to be revelling in the anger and hatred being directed at them, having no qualms about throwing it back at the other clans by a hundredfold without concern for the consequences.
You could not blame your warriors, since you were guilty of similiar actions and you understood the frustration they felt at being looked down upon by the other clans in the coalition, but your people were making an already difficult situation worse and you could not afford such complications nor such childish behaviour that would no doubt be reflected back on yourself. The repercussions had already been felt, by yourself and your guard of thirty who had arrived with you in Polis a month ago. Where only days ago, you were met by welcoming arms within the city and dealt with a certain level of respect, now you were shown naught by wariness if you were not outright ignored. It was frustrating when you had sacrificed so much to gain the deference you had earned since you entered the city and you refused to let it all slip through your fingers due to the actions of others.
Klark could not blame her people for their actions and she sympathised with them, but Wanheda did not and it was Wanheda who currently walked down the path leading back to her people's camp, with rightious indignation burning beneath her skin and the deaths of hundreds weighed upon her back.
You reach the end of the path, which widens into a rolling field upon which your people have made a temporary camp, spreading out for half a mile in each direction. The field is surrounded on all sides by towering trees, effectively cutting you off from the other clans who are camped nearby in much closer quarters, with a small stream hidden behind the tree line whose water you share with the Louwada Kliron, somewhat close allies of the azgedakru. Bedrolls and piles of furs surround hundreds of small firepits, where some warriors sit and talk whilst others sharpen their weapons in preparation from the upcoming war, brows furrowed in concentration. A few horses are corralled a small distance away, huge shaggy beasts that were bred to pull the heavy wagons and carts that your clan has supplied for the war, filled to the brim with food and supplies. It is a simple camp, with only a single large tent that has been pitched in the centre of the field and it is in that direction in which you walk, acknowledging the respectful nods that are directed towards you with a wave of your hand as you wander amongst your people.
You catch a glimpse of Reivon, crouching down beside a small fire with Monti and Jaspa and you gesture her over when you meet her dark gaze from across the field.
"Prisa," she greets you cheerfully as she jogs towards you, her smile faultering only briefly when she takes in your serious expression. "Is everything okay?"
"I want my captains in my tent within the next five minutes," you reply, your tone laced heavily with barely restrained anger and frustration. "Let it be known that any who do not arrive in time will be banished from this clan and can join the trikru for all I care."
Reivon stares at you with wide eyes as you stride past her before hurriedly scrambling away to search for your other captains. You push past the fabric that hides the opening of your tent and step into the warmth of your shelter, immediately shrugging off your leopard skin cloak and folding the soft fabric over the back of your chair. You glance around the small space and it's spartan interior, no more than a roughly made wooden chair and a large table, with a pile of furs half hidden behind the brazier that sits in the center of the shadowed room. You walk towards the table, your eyes wandering sightlessly over the map that rests upon it as you lay your hands flat against the wooden surface while you wait, counting the seconds by in your head.
It is less than three minutes before your captains are stumbling through the entrance of the tent, practically bowling each other over in their haste to get inside. There are ten in total, one captain for every hundred in the azgeda army, and you let your gaze wander over their faces as each one steps into the tent.
Reivon is first, her beautiful face etched into a deep frown as slips inside, your right hand and your most trusted companion, who leads your army's scouts. She is followed quickly by Echo, easily one of your most skilled fighters and more than capable in her position of leading your best riders. Ragar steps inside next, standing easily at over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a muscular chest, dangerous with a sword and even deadlier with a spear.
Sven and Asher enter together, bros, identical if not for the scar that marks Sven's cheek and two of the most intelligent individuals within your kru. Thalia strides into the tent after them, your best archer by far, and with her comes Viktor, who once bodily carried you from a battle when your thigh had been pierced with a spear, courtesy of none other than Onya. Dane, a tactical mastermind with cold grey eyes follows and then there is Quint, quick to anger but undoubtably loyal, a man you know would offer his life for his clan without a moments hesitation if asked.
Last but not least to enter the tent is Ontari, a natblida hidden from the capital by Nia who nutured her ruthlessness from a young age but whose path was changed beneath your guidance and who has saved your life more times than you can count. She meets your grim look as she ducks into the tent, nodding her head in deference, face half hidden in shadows as she skulks towards the table to stand quietly by Echo.
These are your captains, your most trusted advisors, and they are also the people who have undoubtedly fucked up, and they know it if their body language is anything to go by. They are wary and nervous as they situate themselves around the table but you are proud to find that they do not hesitate to meet your gaze, returning your cold glare evenly as you search each of their eyes, looking for weakness and finding none.
You have fought beside each and every one of these warriors, have guarded their backs in the midst of battle and they have guarded yours in return. They are your bros in arms and in blood and you would give your life for each and every one of them, but right now, you want nothing more than to smash each of their heads against the wooden table until your anger and frustration leaks out of your veins.
You won't do that, but you will settle for the next best thing, which includes watching the blood drain from their faces as you unsheath the dagger from your hip, twisting the blade thoughtfully in your hands as you regard them with an impassive expression: a trick you picked up from none other than the commander herself, during your many war meetings with the other clan leaders.
"Reivon," you rasp with a distinct edge, your voice low and dangerous as you continue to glance around the table at your captains, your fingertip sliding lightly down the sharp edge of your blade. "How many fights have I been forced to end since dawn?"
"Five, princess," Reivon murmurs in answer from your right, her head held high as she glares around the table, bandaged fingers tapping against her thigh, a product of said fights.
"Five," you repeat, inwardly smiling with a feral appreciation when your captains begin to fidgit nervously at the barely repressed rage in your voice. You place the tip of your dagger against the table and twirl it slowly before laying the blade down flat, your eyes never leaving your captain Ragar's face as you speak, whose throat bobs with a heavy swallow in response. "Five fights that I have had to intervene in since dawn, where Ice Nation has been involved and it is now barely midday."
A loud bang echoes throughout the tent as you slam your fists down upon the hard surface of the table, hard enough for the small figurines on the map laid upon it to topple over. The impact sends sharp vibrations up your arms, but the brief flash of pain is worth the widening of your captains eyes in response to the unexpected sound. Several of the room's inhabitants flinch at the action and you respond to their weakness with a harsh glare that has them cowering.
"I ought to have each and every one of you whipped!" You snarl furiously, your eyes narrowing to slits as your people drop their heads in shame, but their responses only to serve to fuel your anger rather than weakening it. "It is your sole duty to control your warriors and instead you have made us look weak in the eyes of the other clans and in front of the commander. It is no wonder that they look down at us when our warriors are brawling in the streets of the capital like children."
You pause to take several deep breaths in an attempt to curb your ire and it is difficult, but you manage. The rage continues to bubble beneath the surface, barely contained, threatening to boil over if not for the excessive amount of willpower you are exuding to keep control of yourself.
"We ride to war against the Mountain in the morning," you say, lowering your voice as you look down at the map spread out on the table, where the small model of the Mountain has toppled over, due to your earlier expression of anger. "We cannot afford to get caught up in such petty arguments, lest we force the commander's hand to punish those involved and drag Ice Nation's name deeper into shit than it already is. I will not allow members of this clan to ruin Ice Nation's chances of finally recieving the respect we are due, especially not after all I have done to ensure our people's involvement in this war."
You pause briefly, glancing at the faces of your captain's to make sure that you are being heard and you are satisfied by their intent expressions as they hang off your every word.
"Not a single member of this clan is to step foot outside of this camp without my permission until dawn tomorrow, when we march to the city gates. This will be your only warning." You growl the words threateningly, meeting the eyes of every single warrior in the room until they incline their heads in agreement. "You are lucky that I do not give you to Indra of the Tree People as an apology for the wounds inflicted upon her warriors today. I have seen the punishment they give to those who have wronged them and death by a thousand cuts is not a end that I wish upon anyone."
You are gratified to see that your captains look properly terrified by your warning, though you do not miss the barely concealed sneers at the mention of the trikru leader's name, but that is another problem for another day. You wave a dismissive hand at the assembled warriors, your upper lift lifting in a ferocious snarl as you regard them with cold eyes. "Get out."
The majority of your captains trudge from the tent defeatedly, though two of your companions remain in place; Reivon to your right while Echo stands tall from her place directly across from you. You heave out a heavy sigh once you are alone with your most trusted confidants, running your fingers through your blonde locks with no small amount of frustration.
"If my mother were here..." you say, letting the words trail off as your companions nod knowingly, their faces contorted into matching grimaces. It is well known that your mother and queen detests being seen as weak, especially by the commander, and you can only imagine her reaction to your kru's actions over the past few days.
"We would be hanging from trees like decorations throughout the city," Echo says unnessecarily, before she adds in a more reassuring tone. "Hopefully the Mountain Men will have killed us all before she finds out."
You cannot help but snort in response to your friend's strange sense of optimism, sitting down gracelessly in your chair by the table. "Here's to hoping."
You are aware of the way your companions exchange a look before Echo returns her attention to you and dips her head respectfully. "I will leave now to make sure your orders are followed, princess. Not a single man or women will leave this camp until dawn, I swear it to you."
"They better not," you call to her retreating back, watching as she pushes past the tent fabric and disappears into the camp beyond, her voice fading away as she shouts orders to your warriors. You turn your focus to Reivon, who is unconciously flexing her fingers and you frown at the action with concern. "How is your hand?"
Your friend glances down at her bandaged fingers, offering them to you when you hold out your hand to inspect the damaged digits. "Just some bruising, the healer said it would be fine within a few days. I will be holding a weapon again in no time."
You frown deeply as you let go of her hand, your eyes narrowing as you meet Reivon's gaze. "I should have done more than break that bitch's nose for this."
"And have her running to the commander?" Revion asks you, raising an eyebrow. "It would not be worth it. I prefer you alive, Klark."
"Who says I would die?" You ask, your voice taking on a more playful tone as you relax back into your seat, feeling the days tension slowly drain from your body in the company of your closest companion. "You don't think that I could take the commander?"
You cannot help but smile ruefully when Reivon laughs at you outright, offering your friend a rude hand gesture in response to her amusement.
"I think that you could hold your own," Reivon finally says once her chuckles have faded away, though her lips are still spread in a wide grin. "At least for a few minutes."
"I would fight her anyway," you offer easily, your voice still teasing, though with an unmistakable undercurrent of truth to your words. You would fight the entire known world to keep Reivon from harm and you know that she would do the same for you. "For you and you only."
Reivon's eyes have gone soft and warm as she regards you with amused affection and it makes your heart swell in your chest. "You would, huh?"
You nod your head, all signs of teasing fading from your expression as you reach out to grasp your friend's injured hand, running your thumb gently over her bandaged fingers. "I would pick you first every time, Reivon."
The silence that follows is thick but not restricting; it spreads itself over your shoulders like a warm blanket as Reivon meets your gaze with bright, wet eyes. Your friend finally forces a laugh to break the silence, though the sound is strangled with emotion as she squeezes your hand.
"I know you would, Klark," she replies, her warm palm pressed against yours. "I know."
The moon peeks through the clouds, shining it's pale light down upon the field as a gentle breeze rustles the branches of the trees that surround the camp, the only sound to be heard save for the quiet breaths of a thousand sleeping warriors. You wander amongst the fur covered bodies that doze upon the ground, your leopard skin cloak practically glowing in the darkness and your golden hair turned silver beneath the beams of moonlight. Your blue eyes are alert despite the late hour and your body is restless as you pause in the middle of the camp, standing silent vigil over the azgeda warriors that are strewn over the grass all around you.
You have found yourself unable to sleep up in your room in the commander's tower for the past few days, since your people arrived, but not even the furs in your tent call to you now. Your mind refuses to rest, no matter the weariness of your body and so here you are, pacing through your camp with silent feet, looking down at the faces of your people in peaceful sleep, wondering which ones you will lose in the weeks to come.
You know that death is inevitable, but bringing your people into this war was your choice and already you can feel the weight of each of their lives being laid upon your shoulders. You know that each one of them would follow you to hell and back but it is does not make the burden any easier to bear, knowing that the choices you make in the future could end you up in a field not dissimilar to the one in which you currently stand, but without the soft music of a thousand breathing warriors to soothe your fears.
The thought has you pausing briefly in the sea of sleeping warriors, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of their bodies being torn apart by bullets from the Mountain Men's guns; a thousand bloody corpses to add to the scars that have been burned into your back and into your soul.
Movement catches your attention from the corner of your eye, diverting you from your morbid thoughts, and you turn your head, eyes focused intently on the figure that slowly emerges from the trees around your camp. Your gaze wanders over the leather covered body as it strides silently towards you, moving between the fur covered forms that hinder its path with ease, until the shadowed form stops a few feet away. They incline their head towards the tent that has been erected on the other side of the camp and you nod your head in response, letting your gaze sweep over the field one last time before following after them in silence.
You duck beneath the tent fabric that has been pulled aside for you, stepping into the candlelit shelter and sighing with relief when the warmth from the brazier seeps into your chilled skin. Your companion wanders further into the small space, gravitating instantly towards the table on the other side of the room, where a map similiar to the one in the war room of the commander's tower is spread across the surface. A dozen tiny flags are placed over the rough canvas and you watch as your unexpected guest touches them absentmindedly, their eyes wandering over the detailed map with a quiet reverence.
"This is well made," your visitor murmurs gently, as gentle hands trace over the vivid colours upon the map. "Beautifully detailed."
"Thank you," you reply smoothly, feeling a blaze of pride burn in your chest at the praise as you take your place by the brazier to warm your frozen hands. "I spent many hours working upon it."
Green eyes glance up at you from across the room, twinkling in the soft candlelight as a small smile pulls at the corner of full pink lips. "You are one of many talents, Klark."
You let a small huff of laughter escape from your lips as you slip your leopard skin cloak from your shoulders, letting the heat from the fire brush against your exposed skin. "Do not sound so surprised, heda; these hands can do more than take life, despite what some are inclined to believe."
"I do not doubt it, Klark."
A companionable silence fills the tent after the commander's words and you let it linger as you warm yourself by the fire. You watch as the other woman glances quietly around the tent, her green eyes taking in each and every small detail, before her gaze finally lands on you. Despite the late hour and the relaxed atmosphere of the tent, you can see the tension in the commander's form and you wait patiently for her to voice the thoughts that are causing her discomfort, but she does not.
"How do your warriors fare in Polis?" The commander asks you instead, turning her attention back to the map on the table, where she fiddles with a few of the handmade models. "Onya told me that there were some...difficulties with the other clans."
You grit your teeth, vowing to repay Onya for this betrayal at a later date even as you shuffle your feet somewhat embaressedly. You had been hoping to keep that small piece of information from the commander's ears, but it seems as if your attempts to silence all involved were in vain. Jokking Onya. "It was nothing, heda, just some bickering between clans."
The commander glances up to stare at you with disbelieving eyes and you bite your lip guiltily before huffing out a heavy sigh beneath her gaze. "A few of Indra's guards made some snide comments at the tavern and my warriors may or may not have taken offense to such childish behaviour. I broke it up before it became too serious. It was nothing, truly."
"Truly?" The commander asks you, a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone that has you squirming like a misbehaving yougon. "You broke Indra's nose."
A smirk pulls at your lips before you can smother it and the commander's eyes narrow disapprovingly as you fight to regain your composure. The other woman rolls her eyes at your inability to contain your triumphant expression, shaking her head as she returns her attention to the map. Her disappointment is palpable and it has your heart unexpectedly sinking in your chest, filled with guilt and shame, emotions you never thought that this woman could ever invoke in you.
"It will not happen again," you attempt to assure her, stepping closer to the table and resting your hip against the wooden surface before ducking your head in attempt to catch her gaze, though your efforts are not rewarded. She refuses to meet your eyes and that just makes you feel worse. "We ride out at dawn and I promise to keep my warriors in line until we reach the plains. No more brawls or broken noses, I have made the order clear to my people."
Your tone is light and almost teasing, but it does not goes unnoticed by you the way the commander's shoulders stiffen further at your words, her jaw clenching tightly. You study her profile, tanned skin clear of warpaint, smooth if not for the tightening around her eyes and lips that speak of an inner struggle. You do not think that such a reaction from her is due to the fighting between clans and you cannot help but find yourself wondering what is happening inside her head to cause such discomfort.
The confusion and pain flickering in her eyes is like a thread pulling at your heart, making you take a step forward and raise your hands as if to comfort. It is instict, it is the healer that lies beneath your armor who's trained to stitch together broken bodies and whose first instinct is to soothe away the hurt of both friends and enemies. Your heart does not discriminate when it sees a person in pain, simply moves into action without thought.
But this is not just any person; it is the commander of the twelve clans.
The woman who sentence Fin to die, a voice whispers in the back of your head, though it grows quieter and quieter with every day that passes. The one who ended his life on the edge of her blade.
You push that thought away, deep down into the darkest part of your mind, where you will pulls it back out in the quiet of the night, along with all your other dark thoughts.
For once, you do not fight the instinctive urge to reach out and touch her, barely hesitating before gently placing your hand on the dark haired woman's shoulder in a meager offer of comfort. You feel a slight tremor run through the body beneath your hand, but the commander does not pull away so neither do you.
"Heda?" you murmur, your voice soft and questioning and it is several long moments before the commander opens her mouth to speak, though her eyes do not stray from the map on the table.
"What if this is all for naught?" She finally asks you, unexpected hints of worry seeping into her normally confident tone. Her green eyes are dark and shadowed when she finally glances up at you, though her expression remains unnaturally calm. "The commanders before me warn me that my arrogance will bring the downfall of our people and that my dreams of peace are naught but dreams. What if they are right? What if this folly of mine leads all of our people to their deaths?"
You find yourself frozen at her words, your fingers tightening their grasp on the other woman's shoulder until your knuckles are white, though the commander doesn't seem to notice your vice like grip. Leksa's green eyes are wide and worried, filled with a deep seated fear of failing her people, a fear you know all too well, but one you never expected to hear voiced from this strong, confident woman that you have begun to admire from across war rooms and in between intense discussion of strategy. Hearing her speak these words that have been plauging you throughout the night has your blood running cold and you search your mind futilely for words of comfort or assurance, but you find yourself coming up empty handed as the commander continues to stare into your eyes, waiting for an answer.
"Leksa," you finally manage to whisper, unaware of the way the other woman's eyelashes flutter at your soft voice saying her name as you search for something to say. Your voice is urgent and almost desperate when you finally speak, willing yourself to believe the assurances falling from your lips almost as much as the commander. "This is not all for nothing, I promise you that. The commander's before you may not believe in your dreams for peace, but they are not you. They did not create the coalition between the twelve clans, you did and they could not have brought down the Mountain but you will. No other commander has ever accomplished what you have because they did not have the strength or vision to do so, but you do." You pause here, allowing the words a moment to sink in before you continue somewhat breathlessly. "And you are forgetting that you also have something that none of the other commanders ever had."
As you are speaking, you can feel the tension slowly draining out of the commander's body until her shoulders are loose beneath your touch. "And what is that, Klark?"
"Me." You answer with a cheeky smirk, since the silence in the tent has become heavy, too heavy for your comfort and you cannot help but try and lighten the dark mood with some harmless teasing, causing the commander to roll her eyes even as a small smile pulls at her lips. You smile softly in return, giving the commander's shoulder a gentle shake. "Trust in me if you cannot trust in yourself, heda. I am your loyal servant and I will not let you down."
You try not to let your own self doubt seep into your expression, since you do not feel entirely confident in your offer, though you swear you will try if only to help lift the commander's heavy burdens, even for a moment. Your shoulders are already a ruined expanse of scarred skin and it is better to break what is already crumbling; better you than her.
Leksa's green eyes are wide and bright as she looks up at you, her pink lips parting to speak, only to be interrupted by the soft sound of a bird singing, signalling the arrival of dawn. You hold the commander's eyes at the sound, watching as her face slowly transforms before your very eyes; her jaw tightening as the warmth slowly seeps from her gaze, signalling the arrival of heda as Leksa once more fades away beneath the mask of the commander. You let your hand slip from her shoulder as the other woman straightens up, regarding you with an impassive expression.
"Dawn approaches, Klark," the commander murmurs as the faint sounds of the camp waking up around you begins to filter into the tent. You incline your head in acknowledgement, leaning down to pick up your leopard skin cloak and drape it over your shoulders.
"It's about time," you mutter quietly, letting your face slip back into the cool expression of Wanheda as you follow the commander from the tent and into the crisp air of morning.
The sun has barely begun to rise over the horizon and already, the entire city of Polis is in complete disarray.
You are immensly grateful to be standing at the gates of the city, far away from the hustle and bustle that is the main street, as you wander down the lines of azgeda warriors who wait patiently for instruction. You cannot explain how proud you are to be walking beside them, your eyes taking in their hardened features as they stand in marching formation, eyes following you intently as they wait for your next command. The Ice Nation camp had been dismantled under your watchful eye at dawn without any fuss or complications and your people had been the first to arrive at the gates, ready to march upon the commander's final order. The city's inhabitants steered clear of the waiting army, their eyes wide with awe and something akin to fear as they took in the thousand battle hardened warriors, dressed in dark leathers beneath their grey and white wolfskin cloaks. They are a fearsome sight to behold, with spears at the ready and their faces smeared with white war paint and the sight of them had your heart hammering in your chest.
You are also aware of the way that you are being watched by the people of Polis and by the other warriors of the coalition. Dressed in your tight black leathers and your battle armor, with your blue eyes practically glowing beneath slashes of icy white war paint, you are Wanheda in the flesh and it is somewhat thrilling, the way everyone avoids your gaze as they hurry past, for fear of being pierced by the cold blue stare of the commander of death.
All except for one person, of course.
"Klark!"
You tear your gaze away from your assembled warriors, allowing your cool expression to melt into a grin as you are faced with Luna kom floukru. Your eyes widen slightly at her appearence, letting your admiring gaze wander over her lithe physique made more noticeable by the dark blue leather that encases her figure. Her shoulders and upper body are well protected by burnished bronze shoulder guards and a intricately carved bronze chest plate, which sparkles in the early morning sunlight peeking through the trees and reflects off her twinkling grey eyes as she let her gaze rove appreciatively over your body in return. She let out a low whistle at the sight of the black leather that hugs your curves, reaching out with slender fingers to trace over the swirling designs on your silver shoulder plates with a smirk.
"You clean up well, my friend," Luna says approvingly, flashing you a sultry grin as she runs a finger along the leather straps that cross intricately over your chest. "The Mountain Men will surely fall to their knees before such beauty upon the battlefield, I have no doubt."
"I pale in comparison to your magnificence," you offer playfully in response, earning a gentle shove from the floukru leader as she chuckles lightly. "If I lose my life to this war, I will die a happy woman if my last vision is one of you dressed in this armor."
"Klark, beja," Luna laughs loudly, attracting the attention of several passerbys, though she pays them no attention. She dusts imaginary specks of dirt off of her polished shoulder armor with a smug smirk, her eyes dancing merrily. "It is hot enough in this leather as it is."
You share a grin with your companion as you stand in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of the city filter away as you turn your gaze to the slowly rising sun. It is a surprisingly clear day, without a cloud in sight as the sky turns from grey to a bright blue before your very eyes, a good sign if there ever was one. You turn your focus back to the city, waiting patiently as more and more warriors begin to line up behind your people, readying themselves for the long march ahead.
You catch glimpses of the other clan leaders, attempting to organise their people while others direct traffic towards the gates and shout orders. It is almost midmorning and you are far behind on schedule and you can only imagine how the commander is faring in the midst of all this chaos, since you know that it had been her wish to have departed from the city shortly after dawn.
It does not take long for you to find out.
You watch from a distance as the crowd hurriedly parts to make way for their heda, who looks like a goddess on earth walking amongst mere mortals, who bow and scrape their knees upon the ground as she passes. Closer now, you catch a glimpse of the commander's expression, her angular face a cold mask of anger as she strides down the main street towards you, with Gustos marching at her left side while Onya stalks confidently on her right. You instinctively straighten your spine when her gaze finds yours and you stand tall before your assembled warriors, watching as the commander surveys them with piercing eyes and a clenched jaw.
"At least someone chooses to obey their heda's orders without prompting," the commander all but snarls once she finally reaches you, throwing a harsh glare over her shoulder at the haphazard groups of warriors that are still getting into place behind the disciplined lines of azgeda. You find your eyes fixed upon the movement of her jaw as she grinds her teeth before you feel a less than gentle elbow dig into your side, courtesy of Luna, and manage to look away.
"Azgedakru wishes only to serve you, heda," you murmur demurely as the commander returns her gaze to your face. The other woman inclines her head in acknowledment to your deference and you offer Gustos a smug expression when she turns away once more to regard the chaotic main street, taking joy from the disgusted expression he gives you in response. Your smile only widens when you catch a glimpse of Luna subtly covering her mouth to hide her smile in your peripherals.
It is childish behaviour, but you find that you do not care with the adrenaline that is pumping through your body, setting your nerve endings alight in preparation for battle.
"Enough of this dawdling," the commander finally snaps, her gaze flickering dispassionately over the other warriors of the coalition. "I will wait no longer. The other clan leaders may meet us on the road, if they ever manage to get their people into order."
"As you will, heda," Gustos offers, gesturing sharply to a nearby groom who rushes forwards immediately, gently guiding a beautiful white mare with him. You eye the animal appreciatively as it is brought closer, watching as the commander reaches out to smooth a hand over the beast's neck as she takes the reigns offered to her. She pulls herself up into the saddle with ease, sitting gracefully upon the mare's back and you cannot help but gaze up in awe as the sunlight catches on the small metal cog that rests between her brows.
Sitting upon her horse's back, dressed in her full battle regalia with her black war paint smeared down from her intense green eyes, she truly strikes a regal and somewhat terrifying figure. The sunlight glints off her crimson sash, spilling over her chest like a river of blood and the frayed edges of her jacket sweep around her booted feet as she guides her mare towards the city gates. Her polished shoulder guard sparkles in the sunlight, along with the metal fastenings of her coat as she trots past you, pausing briefly a few feet away to glance over her shoulder, her gaze fixing on your immobile form.
"Klark?" She says your name with a questioning lilt as she studies your somewhat awestruck expression and you feel your mouth suddenly dry up in response, though you are unsure as to why. "Ride with me?"
"As you will, heda," you manage to rasp, waving over the azgeda warrior who holds the reigns to your midnight black mount. You greet the horse with a warm smile before you place your foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up into the saddle.
"See you on the road," you say to Luna, who waves you off with a grin as your trot past her and towards the head of the army, where the commander waits for you. You let a smirk pull at the corner of your lips as your warriors bow their heads in reverence when you pass, reaching out to grasp Reivon's hand from where she stands at the head of your army before you pull up besides the commander's white mare.
Gone is the vulnerable woman who you had seen in your tent this morning, replaced with the confident commander that you have come to know, as her sparkling green eyes roam over the force assembled before you before she turns her head to meet your gaze. A tiny smile pulls at the corner of her full lips as her eyes flash with a primal excitement that you can feel building in your own chest as you match her grin with own of your own.
Your heart is pounding in your chest as Leksa waves her hand, signalling to one of your warriors, who raises a horn to his lips in response. He blows into the device which is emits a deep, loud sound that echoes through the city, ringing in your ears. The commander tears her gaze away from you to regard the army that is now focused directly on her, taking a deep breath before she opens her mouth to speak.
"Warriors of the coalition!" She calls into the sudden silence, the very earth seeming to hold it's breath as her voice echoes into the city. "Today we begin our journey on the path that will lead to the downfall of the greastest enemy our people have ever known! Today we march against the Mountain and tomorrow will bring the beginning of the end of our enemies! Kom war!"
The answering roar makes the ground tremble beneath your mount's hooves, as the warriors before you shout their approval, crashing their closed fists against their armored chest. You feel your face split in a feral grin, turning your head to gaze at the commander, whose eyes are still focused upon the cheering army, her chin lifted as her green eyes flash with pride.
You feel your heart pounding in your chest and you cannot deny that it's furious beating is not only for the adrenaline rushing through your body, but for the woman who sits at your side.
You do not have time to linger on this fact before the woman in question is nudging her mount into motion, turning away from the cheering army to begin the march and all you can do is follow her as she leads you past the city gates and down the road, your eyes focused intently upon her armored back as you leave Polis behind.
