On the dusty dirt road she stood, kicking up dust as she spun in circles, frantically trying to keep the enemies at bay. The sweat on her brow slid into her eyes as the late afternoon sun beat down upon her in the cloudless sky. Beautiful blue, red, purple, and yellow flowers grew alongside the road, but she could not appreciate their beauty. She, a woman of the Kingdom, was traveling by foot, when she was attacked by bandits. She held her ground, sword in her hand, skilfully maneuvering it so the enemies could not get close. But while she was skilled in the art of sword fighting, they were to strong, and they overtook her, viciously putting their sword through her side. She fell to her knees, but refused to let go of her sword. They tried to pry open her fingers, but were unsuccessful. She fell on her back and stared up at the sky with lifeless eyes, her mouth stretched open in a war cry. So died the warrior, for though she was overtaken, she never let go of her sword, and died fighting. She wasn't afraid of dying. She knew where she was going, and she was at peace with herself.
She feared death not, for she was going to heaven to be with Jesus.
