The Work Begins Once You Succeed
Trian stumbled and fell. The wound gaped. The pain cut through her attempts to hold her breath and still her heart. She had won but she didn’t care. Her only desire was to lie there in the mud and let the pain ebb away.
Roaring filled her ears. It beat a constant increasing rhythm till it became a staccato racket forcing Trian to rip off her helmet. It was only her heart beat.
The battle around her seemed to have died and with it all the other participants. Trian couldn’t hear anything over her own ragged breath. Her head half-submerged in the muck muffled all other sound.
She tried to move, but didn’t. She willed herself up but the pain kept her still. She wanted to cry out for help but worried it would not come. In the fray she had lost her banner-bearers - Isolda and Sheilyth. Isolda in a charge and Sheilyth to an arrow. Both fought to remain standing regardless of their wounds, dying to keep the cloth clear of the muck.
Trian rolled over and screamed into the water that pooled beneath her. Her ribs raged against her attempts to move. Ministrations would have to wait, she wanted to get to her feet, to get moving, to find someone - anyone to know the fate of the day.
Today’s art is courtesy of Cassandre Bolan from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.