Shanora

Shanora heard the voices through the dim clatter of swords. She sat up and looked around for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the cool darkness of the room. She slipped from the warm sheets and into her clothes before stepping out of the tent. Looking ahead she could see the warm rays of the sun gently caressing the treetops. Stepping gently, she walked across the dry leaves and stepped into the sunlight. Her red hair glimmered in the early light and her figure cast an eerie shadow across the ground.

Her brother staggered out of the shadows, blood streaming from a gash in his chest, and collapsed in front of her. She gasped inwardly and knelt down on the cold, frosty leaves. Carefully, she laid her hand across his forehead. “Don’t die on me, Tiran,” she said softly as her tears began to fall. His crimson blood spread gradually across the gold leaves, leaving them a dark shade of red. After a few moments the leaves glistened with her fallen tears and Tiran lay still. Shanora looked up and saw six crows flying above, black wings silhouetted against the pale sky. In her head she thought, six crows mean an unfortunate death to one you love.

Shanora gently picked up her dead brother and walked solemnly towards the center of the village. Out of the woods came Quoin, blood dripping from his aqua blue sword. He took one look at Tiran and let out a gasp. “What happened,” he asked, voice shaking tremulously. She didn’t answer. Instead she lay Tiran down in the center of the circle and knelt by his side. Quoin laid his sword down carefully by his dead brother and knelt down besides Shanora.