06-15-2009, 02:58 AM
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500+
Those yellow eyes lifted, empty and defeated as that question burned the air. Cwmfen paused. The white orbs watched the girl—how vulnerable she seemed. The warrior recognized a part of herself in that girl, or what had been her. Like anyone, she too had been lost after the rape, unable to decipher what must be done. The warrior was only relieved that the girl had had other around her for guidance and support. For the black female, there had been no one, there had been nothing. There had been only the ice and the whiteness, the cold and the dark heavens, and the other creatures that sought food in that barren and beautiful landscape. She was forced above fear, forced to fight, and she had succeeded. Then, in that land of ice, it had been necessary. And now it was simply who she was: a quiet creature, cleansed of the unnecessary by the cold winds of the arctic.
"No," the melody replied at length, her voice quiet, practically inaudible for the whisper of the waves. There was a long silence that followed that single uttered word. To exile a life was one thing, but a life itself—that was another. She fought battles, and she killed. But the warrior did not simply kill—she was not an executioner. That was what made her different from her father. Despite their many similarities, they were not the same. And why? Because she valued life. She valued it. That was why she could fight. That was why she could die. Others would be allowed to live. Life...it was not something to be simply thrown away. She would not simply kill the girl simply because her leader had ordered it—yet she doubted that Cercelee would request such a thing of her. And that was not the duty of a warrior and never would be. Perhaps a lesser creature would be able to, but Cwmfen believed that she had overcome that within herself.
"I’m not a killer, Svara," the woman replied. "I am a warrior." And though the warrior was not a prideful creature, there was a certain amount of passion that was said in that word. There were two things that made life worth while: war and Onus. That was all. For the warrior, that was all she needed. "I don’t forget," the woman said at length. The white orbs sought the eyes of the younger female. "As much as you wish that I would, I don’t." Another slight pause. "We may be enemies now, but an enemy can be the same thing as a friend." Or perhaps she did not explain that correctly. But the warrior believed that it was possible for a friend to be the same individual as the enemy; because of that, she was able to do what was bidden without completely severing a bond. Of course, she did not think that the girl had understood, for she had sought to push her away. Even Onus had been hurt by it. "Unless you attacked me, I could not kill you."
500+
Those yellow eyes lifted, empty and defeated as that question burned the air. Cwmfen paused. The white orbs watched the girl—how vulnerable she seemed. The warrior recognized a part of herself in that girl, or what had been her. Like anyone, she too had been lost after the rape, unable to decipher what must be done. The warrior was only relieved that the girl had had other around her for guidance and support. For the black female, there had been no one, there had been nothing. There had been only the ice and the whiteness, the cold and the dark heavens, and the other creatures that sought food in that barren and beautiful landscape. She was forced above fear, forced to fight, and she had succeeded. Then, in that land of ice, it had been necessary. And now it was simply who she was: a quiet creature, cleansed of the unnecessary by the cold winds of the arctic.
"No," the melody replied at length, her voice quiet, practically inaudible for the whisper of the waves. There was a long silence that followed that single uttered word. To exile a life was one thing, but a life itself—that was another. She fought battles, and she killed. But the warrior did not simply kill—she was not an executioner. That was what made her different from her father. Despite their many similarities, they were not the same. And why? Because she valued life. She valued it. That was why she could fight. That was why she could die. Others would be allowed to live. Life...it was not something to be simply thrown away. She would not simply kill the girl simply because her leader had ordered it—yet she doubted that Cercelee would request such a thing of her. And that was not the duty of a warrior and never would be. Perhaps a lesser creature would be able to, but Cwmfen believed that she had overcome that within herself.
"I’m not a killer, Svara," the woman replied. "I am a warrior." And though the warrior was not a prideful creature, there was a certain amount of passion that was said in that word. There were two things that made life worth while: war and Onus. That was all. For the warrior, that was all she needed. "I don’t forget," the woman said at length. The white orbs sought the eyes of the younger female. "As much as you wish that I would, I don’t." Another slight pause. "We may be enemies now, but an enemy can be the same thing as a friend." Or perhaps she did not explain that correctly. But the warrior believed that it was possible for a friend to be the same individual as the enemy; because of that, she was able to do what was bidden without completely severing a bond. Of course, she did not think that the girl had understood, for she had sought to push her away. Even Onus had been hurt by it. "Unless you attacked me, I could not kill you."