• Blood scattered like leaves on the wind. The only stirring came from the bodies that were just now making their descent into the cold, hard earth, and a man whose sword shone slick with crimson. His movements were slow, after being assured of his victory. Bodies crunched under his feet, though his steps never faltered. He came past a small shack with a broken door and a slanting straw roof and his feet slowed. A small figure was crouched in the doorway, shivering and drenched in blood. The man, who wasn’t truly a man, but an adolescent of about fifteen years, stopped and turned toward the being, stooping down to look it in the face. The figure remained frozen for a long moment, and then fell backwards, almost looking relieved. The adolescent saw long hair flow as the person tumbled and quickly grabbed the hand that was plummeting. He pulled the figure into his arms and his eyes flickered with surprise. The figure, a young girl, was silently crying and smiling at him. Realizing the blood splattered on her was not her own he stood up, the small girl still wrapped in his arms. Her eyes closed, but her mouth opened and softly cried “Thank you.”