Sanguine

I stared out at the fresh young faces of the soldiers. You could tell the boys from the veterans, just by watching their gait. The boys had a buoyant step, bubbling with excitement for the battle that was sure to take place tomorrow. The veterans had a slow step that was so weary it was almost a stumble. To know what battle is like, and to know that one is coming on the morrow is enough to kill any soul.

I retreat to the back of my tent. My year as a battle priestess has made me weary. I know that I serve a vital role in keeping these men alive, my shrieks and invocations serving to both strike fear in the hearts of the enemies and give heart to our own men. Still, I grow so weary of the color of blood. Administering the mercy blow to any of our men after battle is my duty. I cannot look at their faces without wondering if I shall have to stain my short blade with their blood tomorrow. I no longer see faces, or any features in men anymore. All I can see is the blood pulsing in their veins.

Such is the lot of a battle priestess.

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