ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ 𝐹𝒶𝓁𝓁 ↠ ᴏʀʙɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ [1]

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Can I just say wow! I went to go update and we already have 250 reads. That's insane! Thank you so much! Love you all!
❤️Tay

Eight - Now You've Seen Me Angry

"Bring out the girl, Bellamy!" Murphy demands from outside of the main tent that we had discussed who killed Wells just a few minutes before.

"Why, Charlotte?" Bellamy begs, searching for an answer to why she would do such a thing. But he doesn't understand losing everyone you have ever loved. Watching them slip away from you. I have. Mama. And even Papa.

The metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils. Bodies sprawled out, covering the ground, making it impossible to travel any distance without walking on them; as if they were the red carpet and I a queen headed to her throne. I wasn't supposed to be here. Mama had told me to stay home while she went to find Papa. But here I was, in the middle of a battlefield, at the age of six, just outside our village. Swords were swinging and clanking all around me. Arrows whistled past my ears. Bodies dropping and blood splattering. I shouldn't have been there, but I had to find Papa.

And I did. Under the foot of a large man, begging for his life, "Beja, ai don a goufa en a houmon. Beja!" Please, I have a child and a wife. Please!

But my father's pleads were no match for the blood lust that was in the man's vile green eyes, that would haunt me for years to come. I watched as the man dug his blade into my father's chest, unable to do anything to stop him.

"Papa! No!" I screamed out, falling to my knees. The man followed the sound to me, watching with a smirk, as my eyes filled with tears. But nothing else could be expected from an Azgeda warrior. White face paint covered his face completely. A signature of Azgeda. His face even had the interior tattoos, that caused lines to protrude from his skin, another signature aspect of Azgeda.

He didn't even need to pull the sword from my father's chest as he had another in his left hand. As he got closer, I didn't move, in fact I welcomed death. From his white face paint down to his crossed sword tattoo on his left wrist, I wanted death. I had already felt death. I couldn't imagine it getting any worse.

But he suddenly had stopped just as I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I met the gaze of a young warrior in our tribe, Indra. I could feel the tears building up, almost about to fall, but Indra shook her head, "The gona doesn't mourn the stedaunon taim the wor ste odon." The warrior doesn't mourn the dead until the war is over.

I nod and look back to see that my father's murderer was staring at Indra and Indra held his stare. His gaze softens until he looked away and whistled, signaling the rest of the warriors to run off. I watched them leave until they were no longer in sight.

I stood and moved over to Papa's side. There I saw his lifeless body. His eyes still open in fear. My Papa was always told me that he wasn't afraid of anything, except losing me and Mama. And in the end, he didn't have to lose us, we lost him.