The Cabin | D.M 18+

S E V E N T Y - F I V E

Three uploads today. But I need to get this story finished before I get Governor out.

Enjoy!

--------

TW: The following chapters will involve lots of war, gore and death. I'm not going to add them all chapters. You have been warned. Viewer discretion is advised.

- BELLE -

The ground shivers so violently, I fall onto my arse on the side, facing the tall hills where shadows start to form.

Everyone is watching in silence. Waiting as to what is to come. What the future holds.

Of course I guessed it had been Uagadou. But it was the best guess I could've given myself at the time. Because there would be anything I would hold on to for hope. Nothing could stop it.

Hope was the only thing that could master our win against the war.

And if that were the case, then Draco was right.

His eyes, thankfully, ripped away from Blaise who now watched the hills alongside the army of black.

Ghost wasn't going to make an appearance right now, thank bloody God for that.

Behind us, Voldemort loudly demands his soldiers to have wands at the ready, the beasts he's brought to fight with claws deep in the ground and war wrath prepared.

It plays out like a movie and I can't stop but watch in awe.

Even the winds come to a pause. The sun doesn't blink and the sky refuses its blockade of clouds so that even the angels can see everything unfold.

Hopefully Harry was watching. I hope that everyone from the Weasley family does and all those that have lost their lives in the meantime.

I hope to goodness gracious that Narcissa watched. Yet something tells me that she wasn't observing from the sky. That she was right next to me. Before Draco and I as if she were here among us giving strength.

The rumble comes louder, more violent.

And as it prepares for eruption, a new sound comes forth that I hadn't thought ever could. Not in a place like Wales anyway.

A traditional war cry of the Uagadouan people and their tribes. It's short and sharp. High pitched rolls and fearful cries. As though it were a celebration of accomplishment and bravery.

Tongue clicks and throat strained jitters scream out into the open atmosphere, causing chills to pool my skin.

Stalagmites form on my arms. I shiver and swallow the dryness from my mouth.

In a long line, men and women, riding on horseback, some even standing on the spines of the horseback as the adrenaline bulges their eyes out.

Their faces and naked top halves are painted in streaks and dots of white and red which accentuate the threat they promote. Shells, leather and fur, feathers and twigs intertwine in their clothing and hair.

Every human and wizard have their own design, for each person has their defiance in joining. But all bore mean expressions.

Some smiled crazily. Most screamed and cackled.

All the horses were in a full frontal gallop, ignorant of the soldiers riding them as they raced for their lives at the Death Eaters, their eyes just as determined.

The only difference was that none had wands. They had nothing. And the humans that came to fight, either held a bow with a long bag of arrows on their backs, iron spears with wooden handles and many with copper sickles, hungry for blood.