Someone Else's Kingdom, BOOK II - Scene XC

Beautiful blood pulsing through veins. Uprooted trees. The gunky trenches of the soggy forest floor. The swaggering wind, tearing at the leaves and branches. Even this far on land the hiss of the sea carried on the currents. Threatening violence in its mood. Corpses, occasionally strewn, but overwhelming in their stench and presence. Box clasped her sword, a lonely, tiny spirit in an un-fond world. She'd yet to see fighting, but everywhere the evidence of battle oozed and lingered on the cold, cold air.

"It's only death," spoke Colm, with a quiet air. The coming dark and coming clash of war bringing an unmovable dread. A dread that couldn't be hidden or avoided. Staining reality with its indelible dirt. "It's tragic when the young die early," he continued, "But death is nothing in truth. Suffering requires consciousness - and in death you lose consciousness quickly. Like falling from your horse and getting knocked out cold - you may brake a few bones and be in a bad way, but as you pass out you don't consciously experience the pain. It's only when you awake in your recovery a week or so later that you realise the damage you've suffered, by which time you're well on the mend ..That we faint so easily is a blessing. And death too is a blessing - in that it means we always have an escape route from suffering. It's a neat system. The dread we feel now is worse than the battle. God never burdens a soul with more than it can cope with."

These words in the wild tempest stilled Box a little. It also made her feel a little less guilty at the prospect that she herself might take life when she reached the melee. She looked around at some of the men - and women - readying themselves for the onslaught. All as trepidatious as her, though most hiding it more so. The quiet steely-eyed men, and the verbose cocky boys - with their cries of bloodlust and victory; all tinged with the same hum of fear. Of feelings of endings and blackness.

Then the trumpets sounded, and a rush of panic and noise ran through the encampment. Death, on its smoky horse, was arriving under the mainland banners.