Warda's eyes fluttered closed as she let out a deep exhale. She lay limp in her nest, every muscle having been relaxed methodically as she put herself through her nightly routine. It had been a long day of intense training; she kept herself exercised to stay tired, so the dreams might leave her be. It didn't work every night, but it worked most nights. Some nights, her past caught up with her. Sometimes, depending on the dream, she wasn't sure if perhaps her future might be looming over her, too.
As the relief of rest washed over her body, she drifted away from the waking world. Her dreamscape faded to a gray that she was familiar with; somewhere, deep in her mind, her subconscious felt disappointment. She had made it back to the battlefield.
Before Warda had come to the Kawani Lands, her life had not been nearly so peaceful. She had earned her jewelry by rendering her services as a paid soldier, joining up with a company as soon as she could hold her own in a fight. She had made a name for herself, working her way up through the ranks through merit. But it was all in the past; she had retired some years ago and come here, where conflict was limited to skirmishes between herds and predators.
In her dreams, though, she returned to the battlefield. She stood over the bodies of her fellow soldiers, in the aftermath of the battle that destroyed her company and, very nearly, her life. Today, something was different - fear trickled in through a crack in the back of her mind. Something was out of place here, an intruder. She heard them before she saw them; a great clattering of weaponry, the snort of exertion and whipping of manes and tails. Warda turned, and over the ridge behind her, a stampede thundered toward her.
Adrenaline and distress coursed through her like lightning, and before she had time to process what was happening, Warda's hooves led her to flight. But instead of her reliable speed as it endured in reality, in her dream state, Warda's feet betrayed her. They moved sluggishly, as if facing an invisible resistance stronger than anything she had ever known. Yet behind her, the band of warriors careened toward her at supernatural speed, breath rising on the chill air. She felt a shiver in her shoulders, racing down her spine. How the heck was she supposed to escape this?
As she continued to run - the best she could, anyway - Warda's brain processed what was happening. She asked herself, why would they be chasing her? And she reasoned with herself, this was her nightly terror; she had been here before, she had failed her fellow soldiers, and these ones were here to punish her. That was when she realized: she was fighting a battle of two fronts.
Straight ahead of her, enemy soldiers lined up in formation. Like her own soldiers, they were adorned with mismatched armor; whatever they could afford to buy to protect themselves. Warda's point of pride forever had been her light or nonexistent armor. She could hold her own without an assist, without anything but the fitness of her own body. But between two fronts... She couldn't imagine being anything other than helpless. Her mind swirled, broken thoughts slamming into each other. Warda's breathing came quick and shallow, and she realized her feet had stopped moving. Bracing herself to be skewered, she closed her eyes. This was it; she was finally going to meet the end she had always been destined to find here. Her blood would finally be added to the field.
A wave of impossible coldness swept over her and a shatteringly loud cacophony rang through her ears. It went on for several seconds, but Warda did not feel a shock of sharp pain; this was not how she had expected the end to feel. Taking a cautious breath and opening her eyes to peer at what lay ahead of her, Warda saw the ethereal soldiers of this band part around her, continuing their path toward the front of soldiers she could not bring herself to face. Looking to either side as the last of them swept past her, she made eye contact with one of the soldiers. His glowing eyes and scarred face struck her: he was her most trusted lieutenant. As he passed, he nodded to her, and Warda felt a deep grief settle in her chest.
He had not made it home this day. He was the reason that she had stopped fighting. And here, in this dream, and part of this terrifying band of ghostly warriors, he still rushed toward her - but not to chase her down with guilt, it appeared; he was here to protect her from the pain of her past. A tear rolled down her cheek, and Warda broke from her sleep.
Sitting up and trying to settle her breath, Warda shook her head. The chill of the night air settled in the wet patches on her cheeks. Above her, the moon shone full and bright, a beacon bringing back her hope. Maybe restful nights lay ahead of her yet, even if this was not one of them.
WC: 872
