If Wishes Could Fly

Magnificent Night

First and foremost, Gimera carried a silver staff, engraved by the hands of her long dead father. Often she would sit at her post and run her fingers over the intricate designs that were sprawled randomly across the shining canvas. The staff didn't do much, only blocking a sword here or there, but it did enough to keep her alive. Some nights she would lie down in the grass, pretending that she was at home with her father, pretending she was a brave warrior like old times. She would pretend she wasn't here in the real world, she would imagine the warm dinners and cold winters when they played in the snow. But they weren't real, and that was the only thing that kept Gimera from running back towards home each night. Rustling in the leaves around her would always pull her away from mind. Sometimes it would be a mere rabbit, and sometimes it would be the only warning before an attack. Bruno Langdon, Gimera's longtime friend, carried a crumpled old photograph, which he would run his fingers over each night. He never showed the photo to anyone except Gimera, and not very often at that. Most of the things that the warriors carried were dependent on age, the young ones carrying bags of food or water and medical supplies, while the older ones like Gimera and Bruno carried iron axes, bronze swords and bulky silver shields. Some of the stronger ones carried the other necessities like packs of throwing knives, iron swords, and loop after loop of thick tangled rope. Constance Redford was the smallest one of the lot, with long ivory hair and glinting silver eyes that twinkle like stars on a clear night. Bruno's older sister, Anefinna, was the next one that followed behind us, a young girl no older than seventeen that carried a two-bladed sword and a heavy mace in her pack, and always carried a blow-dart gun fully loaded at the ready. His sister was tall with hazelnut skin that was marked with uncountable battle scars. She looked nothing like her bronze skinned brother who had yet to earn a story-worthy scar. And then there was Gimera, who stood beside Bruno with her pale skin, nearly white, and her black cherry hair falling in short unruly curls beside her face. On some days Gimera would stop and keep watch for a while, weighed down by the longing for the warm of her father. Bruno would accompany her on those days, bringing her water as she cried so that she would not use up every last drop in her bones. She could tell he was hiding his own feelings for her sake, but Gimera didn't have the guts to say anything. 'This is a war,' She would think, scampering away from the thoughts of candied apples on christmas eve as her father sat by the fire, smoking his favorite pipe. 'There are no times for silly emotions.' There was no time for crying or laughter, this was a war for god's sake! Gimera pushed any thought remotely about her father away, disowning them.

A few nights after Gimera threw her memories into the endless abyss of tears, there came a rustling in the leaves. Bruno shot up from where he was sitting by the fire and pulled a bronze sword from the sheath that hung loosely around his waist. By the time Anefinna stood up to pull them back to safety, it was too late. They had been spotted.

Sword after sword swung itself at them, making a horrifying screech as they connected with Gimera's staff, inches away from her heart. Knives were thrown, staffs were swung, and bodies fell. Gimera and Bruno took up the lead, pulling throwing knives from the pockets of their enemies. They fought until their arms ached and their legs felt like jelly, but even then the adrenaline pumping through their veins was enough to keep them going. Anefinna stood by Constance, unsurprised at the young girls lack of skill, and tried with all of her strength to protect her. Gimera even thought they were winning...until she heard Bruno's scream echo through the air. She spun around and looked down at the knife buried deep in his stomach, blood seeping through the thin shirt that guarded him. Another scream penetrated the air, and it took Gimera a moment to realize it was her scream as she fell to her knees beside Bruno. 'No...' She crumpled onto the ground, desperately trying to stop the everlasting rivers of blood. She tried to tell him he would be okay, but he only shook his head and tried to push something into her hands. Each time, she refused the object and continued to try and help him. Nothing was working, nothing would work, and nothing would save him. So she gave up. She sat back and gently accepted the object, never taking her eyes off of him. And she cried. She cried for Bruno. She cried for her father. She cried for everything she had ever done to deserve this.

And she looked down at the photograph he had pushed into her hands.

She would forever carry the picture of Bruno's smiling face as he stood next to her.

And forever she would carry the agony of watching the light leave his eyes, quickly fading upwards into this magnificent night.