A Tale of Two Lesbians

Chapter 7 - The Reaper's Storm

A/N:  I'd like to mention that I majorly edited the prologue a couple weeks ago (May 13th I think). Nothing has changed plot-wise. It's just a lot gorier and I corrected some errors. 

Dedicated to Lord3513 for the amazing fan letter!

EmilyNisCrazy's chapter in Jack's POV

 

 

I felt as if my mind was spinning in an infinitely huge storm. There was no escaping the shadow of its pitch black clouds or the havoc in its wake. Princess Shannon had completely and utterly destroyed me. The only thing she left was the infuriatingly sweet taste of her lips on mine. While I was getting busy with her in the ravine, her troops, flesh-eaters, and that damn dragon devastated the rest of my numbers. Most of my troops, who aren’t dead, probably abandoned us.

            I jumped over some fallen trees and made my way out of the ravine. I ran as fast as my leg allowed me to. It hurt considerably less than before that Shannon witch worked her magic on it. I could still feel a twinge in the muscle that would undoubtedly be permanent damage. But that was no matter; I could shift more weight onto the other side of my leg to make up for it. It’s better than being called one-legged Jack.

A limp and a scar show that I’m battle-worn, like a good soldier should be. Unlike Shannon and her magic-doers, they do away with their injuries as they happen. I bet Shannon has never felt the slow, aching pain of a wound healing naturally. Or the fear that corruption will take over and you’ll have to watch yourself rot to death.  I shook my head and tried to remove the image of her from my mind, but the only good that did was made me think about removing her armour and checking for scars.

            I took a deep breath as I ran. I smelled rotting flesh-eaters and burnt skin. When I came to the clearing I couldn’t see anyone alive. I knew Shannon had called off her troops, but I didn’t call off mine. Maybe they tried to follow the Coverfelds. I’ve always been curious as to where they lived. I heard moaning coming from inside one of the tents, so I followed the pained noise. When I bent down to enter the tent I saw Sue kneeled beside a man squirming on the floor.

            “Hold still. I’m trying to remove your armour,” she implored.

            “Just let me die. I want to die,” he pleaded. It was the young, spotty soldier that brought me rum now and again. His face had lines of soot around the mouth and his eyebrows were singed off. His breastplate was smoking and I could smell a burnt stench coming off the boy.

            “What happened to him?” I asked.

            “A dragon,” Sue replied. “The fire seems to have heated up his armour just enough to weld it shut.” She held out her blackened and burned hands to show me her attempts at removing the armour.

            “Well, cool it down first,” I said, turning around to locate a basin of water beside the doorway to the tent. I dumped the water on the breastplate and a cloud of steam rose as the water sizzled. I bent down and looked the soldier in the eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”

            “Finley, Ma’am. Finley Clement. Son of Brock Clement.”

            “You’re Mr. Clement’s son, eh? I knew him. He was a good friend of my father,” I said, trying to calm the boy down.

            Finley sniffed and swallowed, trying to appear braver than he was.

            “Sue here is gonna fix you up and then we’ll go home. You can see your Pa again and I’ll tell him how courageous you were, taking on a dragon and all,” I said.