Unnatural Instinct: Amazon

28.

Your sisters are quiet. They seem calm and in control but you can feel the tension in the air.

The fear.

In all likelihood you're going to die before the day is done. They'll never see their loved ones again. You'll never see Christopher again.

You can't help but recall your last moments together, how desperate and furious they had been. Despite everything, it makes you smile. If it weren't for the oncoming battle, you could have had something. You would have asked him to marry you. You could have had children. A real life.

You could have been happy.

He's only been gone five days and you already miss him so much. You feel his absence like a hole in your heart. It's a feeling you haven't known in so many years. In too many years.

And now you're going to lose it again. It'll snuff out like it never was.

With nothing else to do, you circle the camp, your axe strapped at your hip, your machete pressing against your ankle in your boot, your spear in hand. Everyone is at the ready, fully-armed, their eyes peeled for danger. Any minute now, the Northerners are going to attack. Your scouts returned hours before, informing you of their progress. They have entered your territory and are making their way to the camp—fast.

'Keep your nerve,' you say to your sisters. The older ones, those already hardened by several wars, appear focused and determined, their eyes bright, their grips tight around their weapons. But some of the younger ones are looking a little too pale. Their eyes dart around and they're fidgeting too much. It's understandable. Even after so many years, you remember your first fight vividly.

'Fight like warriors,' you continue. 'Remember who you're doing this for.' Your last words echo around the remains of the camp.

You grip the shoulder of a young girl as she stands staring hard into the trees. Probably no older than fourteen-years-old, she trembles beneath your touch. She looks up at you with wide eyes, but her jaw is set. You release her with a nod and take up position again.

There is nothing you can say to her.

They arrive within the hour.

They announce themselves with a spear to one of your sister's chests. Just as she falls to her knees, they charge out of the trees, screaming and flailing their weapons.

You clash, and all you understand of the battle is the blood roaring in your ears, the knots in your guts and the clang of weapons. Screaming, shouting, wailing. All the normal sounds of battle fill your ears, fill your heart and mind and soul. But the sound of your own desperate panting is the loudest. Your spear slides in your sweaty fist as you jam it into the chest of the woman attacking you. With a scream, you throw your weight against it and haul her back.

A second woman rushes at you from the left, her eyes burning, her mouth pulled into a snarl. Blood already mats her hair and stains her breasts. She pulls back her axe, ready to split your head. Ducking, you yank your machete out of your boot and thrust it deep into her guts. It slides in so easily. With a roar, you yank it out and slash at her throat. You close your eyes as blood sprays in your face. You can taste it in your mouth.

It feels so warm.

She's down and you steal her axe as it slides from her nerveless fingers. Then you're on the attack again, throwing yourself into the fray. With a yell, you toss your spear just as an enemy prepares to behead one of your sisters. She arches backwards as it catches her square in the back.

You pull out your own axe as another enemy charges. A second follows with a howl of rage, wielding her spear. Both axes in hand, you chop and thrust and maim. You scream and ululate as you chop through the neck of a particularly massive woman. As she falls and you have a spare moment to breathe, you survey the scene.

The Northerners are everywhere. So many of them! Your sisters are overwhelmed. Too many of them litter the ground. All you can do is watch as a Northerner hurls her spear into the back of one of them. She seems to drop in slow motion, and you recognise the young girl you tried to comfort earlier. In her last moments of life, she truly looks like the innocent child she is.

But there is no time to grieve. Just as there isn't time to despair.

Another enemy charges and all you can do is meet them head on.

You're tiring. You can feel the weight of your own shoulders. It hurts to breathe. Your body is battered. Blood pours from numerous nicks and slashes. Your movements are slowing. They seem so slow.

You turn at the sound of someone behind you.

It's another Northerner, her face pulled back into a sneer, her eyes narrowed, her fists tight around the handle of her hammer. Her spiky hair is beaded with sweat. Blood coats her arms up to the elbows. You need to move. You know what to do. You can visualise your response, but your tired body moves too slow.

You manage to stagger into a spin, your axe at the ready—but the hammer is already coming down, and all you can do is watch.

Your time is up.

Something strange happens, something you can't understand. You manage to step out of her way as she staggers. Her eyes bulge in her face as she drops the hammer and face-plants into the ground. Something has wrapped itself around her legs. Vaguely, you see that it's a rope.

You don't think but chop at her with your axe before she can untangle herself, again and again until her blood spatters your face and she stops gurgling. Then you look up.

It's Shereen—of all people. He's looking at the dead woman with a shocked but fierce expression. It makes your heart thud. What's he doing here? Then outsteps Christopher from the trees behind him. Something inside you melts. Your heart flips.

Before you know what you're doing, you're rushing over, your axe swinging at your side, your boots thudding loudly amid the din. You have only one thought: to be with him, to protect him.

'What are you doing?!' you scream.

Why do you even ask? You know exactly what he's doing. You know exactly what all the men are doing, armed and determined as they rush to defend your depleted forces.

He doesn't speak, only answers you with his own embrace as you crush him to your chest.