War of the Equines

A hailstorm had been pushed in by the Fliers, on the north side. They had blindsided us with the giant clumps of cold ice. They were almost the size of golf balls. I was currently huddled and hidden in the corner of the trench I was assigned to, as blood slowly ran in the door mixed with mud and rain. I looked over the mixture with disgust, going a bit pale. The Mystics were attacking from the southern border. I heard a shout from my commander, and saw him running past the door in a display of desperation. There was a single gun shot, and he fell to the ground collapsed. He weakly turned his head to look at me, blood spurting from his mouth as he coughed, giving little coughs of hysterical helplessness. This image joined the many that had been photographed and engraved into stone in my mind. I could remember every one of the deaths of my friends. Every single death I caused fighting the Equines. I clamped my hand over the lion necklace I had, if done right it looked like you could hang it off of something like a cup or the lip of a ledge. It was merely a toy, the last thing that reminded him of what he was before he was taken at the age of 10 to train for the Equine Wars. I was drafted for this with little say. I was raised with the thought that I was going to always fight and eventually die in this war. We were raising our children to be slaughtered. Like livestock...

I heard heavy bootsteps, and the heavy clinking of chains. Mercenaries... They were humans trained to fight, but they refused to fight, and dropped out into their own groups. They would be hired by the Equines to take out troops. The merc placed his boot on the head of my dying commander, and slowly pointed his gun at the head of the man I was always taught to obey, and he shot him straight through the head. I gained a sense of intense helplessness and confusion. I had relied on the Commander for everything. When I could sleep, when to wake, when to eat, when to battle, when to heal, when to drink or even go to the bathroom. I looked a bit lifeless for a few moments, and soon, I reverted to the scared primal child that I was before all of this. The scared little child. I cowered like a dog in the corner, no longer knowing what to do or how to act. The merc slowly looked at me and eyed me like I was a piece of meat. He whistled as loud as he could, and I heard several more splashes in the bloody mud.

Out of the woodwork appeared two more merc's, and the leader nodded, and I felt something stab into my torso, making me cry out in pain as I held my side. This was going to be used to hurt me enough so I couldn't run, I knew. They were capturing me. I was picked up and groaning, trying to hide my large gulps of in tense pain and fear. There was no taste of blood in my mouth, but there was a sense of fear. It grew with every step the two merc's took towards me. They each took one of my arms, and the leader started checking for weapon. He took my chain, my trench knife, my spade, my pistol and my switchblade. He looked at my lion necklace and raised an eyebrow, reaching for it. I pulled back as gest as I could, holding it in my hands as tightly as I could. He leaned back and became nonchalant, and shrugged, turning away and moving away. He didn't make any moves but a few steps, and I was dragged after him. He had a mask on with a skeleton smile on it with blood coming from it's sharpened fangs.

He waved the two forwards to let me go, and they did, and the wound in my chest gushed with blood. The lead merc glared back at me as I weakly groaned and struggled to hold up my weight. He walked over and tied my hands behind my back. Urgency pounded my skull into bits as I tried to regain mobility, the blood gushing from the hole in my chest being the absolute least of my worries. My captor had a tight hold on the back of my neck holding on so tight I couldn't breath. I'm doomed. He lifted me over his shoulder. He headed towards the forbidden forest here. I gasped at the very idea of it, and tried to struggle. He jerked his steps and I yipped in pain, feeling the blood coming out of my torso. The hail stopped when we entered the forest, and there was a deeply disturbing scent to the forest. The merc let out a whistle, and listened. I heard a bird call back and he walked forwards a bit more, silently and carefully. Humiliating it was, being the prisoner of a traitor. I let out a small sniffle as I felt my life starting to drain. I was getting weaker. He did whatever he could to keep me from going limp, sometimes jerking, other times pinching my calves.

He stopped again and whistled, loudly, and in a different pitch than before. It seemed urgent. He waited a moment, and a faint whistle was heard off in the distance, and he grunted, setting me against a dead tree, and tying my legs together so I couldn't move. I didn't struggle. I was far to weak. He went off and began gathering sticks, leaves, and kindling. He pulled out my trench knife and a piece of stone, and sparked it. He looked at me and his eyebrows furrowed. He pulled down his mask, to reveal his midnight shadow. He looked at me and walked up, taking a breath. He took the strap of his bag and put it around my neck, and it hung around my neck to the front. He dressed the wound a bit, disinfecting it and smearing something on it that I had never seen before. It took the pain away, or dulled it at least.

He waited for a while before cooking up some food over the fire, a few carrots and other veggies like potatoes. He sipped bread into the liquid and held it to me. I took a bite, and he kept it up like this until the bread was gone, and he held the bowl to my lips, making me drink until it was gone. He wiped my face of the substance and set the bowl down. He whistled again, and then a Mystic entered the little circle that had been made around us. I went on high alert as soon as I saw the Equine, struggling weakly against the bindings. I kicked. They started a conversation, and the merc nodded, accepting a small bag of coins. The Mystic used their powers to lift me up and off into the forest, deeper, we went. I was not ready to die.

Hopefully… I wasn't going to.