My name is Neoma. Tonight, a war will begin.
I am one of three thousand warriors in the Dust clan. We are a fierce and noble element of the Northern Faerie race, the strongest of six clans: Thunder, Ash, Rain, Willow, Rabbit, and Dust. But tonight, tonight it will all change. This war we are fighting will change life as we know it.
Our war is against Death itself.
Death; Dust's sister clan. No longer included as a clan in the congregation of Northern Faeries, they seek vengeance upon the remaining clans, slaughtering women and children in their marches. They do not allow women in their armies, thus eliminating compassion, healing, and above all raw courage from their ranks. Death runs on fear, corruption, and shadowy magic. This all ran through my mind as I watched the stars above my head.
I waited outside my brother's tent, my equipment in tow. It was a tradition of ours to always prepare ourselves together.
I heard angry voices from inside, and someone stormed out of the tent, nearly running me over. It was Thaddeus, my brother's closest friend. He muttered an apology and hurried off into the night, his grey, transparent wings held stiff behind him.
I stepped into the tent and put my load on the ground. "Is Tad okay? He seemed a little upset," I asked.
Ezekiel laughed bitterly and shook his head. "He thinks we should hold back another night. For what reason he could not say." I frowned and picked up my breastplate, dusting it off.
"That does not sound like Thaddeus."
"He's been acting strange lately," Ezekiel admitted. Together we said the necessary protective spells over our armor and arrows. By the time the sun set, we were both armed and dangerous.
We heard yelling and scuffling outside. I ducked out of the tent, and my eyes met utter chaos. The Death clan had invaded our camp, and we were being overwhelmed.
With a soft sigh of the wind I faded into the shadows, Ezekiel right behind me, and killed any Death warrior in sight with dagger and spell. Soon there were a pile of bodies in my wake, but more and more men came.
Before I knew it, the sun was rising above the horizon. I pushed through my exhaustion and moved on, too tired even to stay out of sight. After what seemed like hours later, the last Faerie fell.
And it wasn't a Death clan member.
"You're all coming with us," the gruff voice of a Death clan commander barked. There were only about twenty of us left, including Ezekiel, myself and Thaddeus.
Tad's shadow black hair was streaked with blood and dirt. He had a nasty gash across his chest, but the Death clan warriors wouldn't let me heal it. Tad put on a strong face and accepted the bandages the Death clan healer offered. It was over.
They took our weapons and armor, and bound our wings with spider webs so we couldn't fly away. The man taking care of this hesitated when he got to me; my wings were huge, black and velvety, powerful despite their graceful droop and tattered look. He was more careful with mine, gently furling them against my back before binding them with the web. They tied our ankles together and made us walk all the way back to their territory.
I wasn't afraid. Dust clan women are never afraid. I took Tad's hand behind me and Ezekiel's, in front, and sought courage from them. But I was overwhelmingly sad.
We had been taken prisoners of war.
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(Woo! I love Faerie stories... they're so mysterious, ya know? Soon the <SPOILER> ghosts will come in. I can't wait!)
-Pepper
