on the heels of war....

The candle's faint glow thrummed against the nearby wall, the wax burned near empty and flooding the brass base beneath it. It was late. So very late but Celestine could not manage to convince her body to wind down. There would be matters to attend to in the wee hours of the morn, there was no doubt in that, and if she did not catch a few hours of sleep now there might not be another chance soon, but she was beyond exhausted. Stuck in that moment where sleep is not an option and you can do nothing more than stare ahead of you and try to make sense of the things around you.

For now, she was quite content in staring at her shadow cast, thrice her size, on the wall opposite of where the candle burned.

Her hands were stiff and numb from a long day of suturing the guardsmen back together. Stitch after stitch she closed up gashes and slices, various wounds born of blades and bolts. When she ran out of the thin, sleek fibers normally reserved for such things, she had turned to the local seamstress. In times such as these it was not uncommon for the village to help each other out and a long-held rapport with Glenhilda had provided Celestine with a basket of makeshift instruments and bandages. She used every type of twine and string and thread that was attainable and continued on even when all she had left to stitch with was the thick wool the seamstress used for drapery.

By the time the sun had set, Celestine's hands were moving of their own volition, which was a blessing when her mind began to try and shut out the gore and destruction the war had wreaked among her people. She had seen much in her years with the clinic, even as a child she watched her mother work on some nightmarish injuries, but the sheet magnitude of the injured was enough to knock the wind out of even the most seasoned healer.

"Miss..." a hushed whisper forced its way through the silence, "you need to sleep. I could fetch a blanket to keep you warm."

Celestine's eyes pulled away from her own shadow to the, now open, door of the small, cluttered office where a volunteer stood. She was a mere wisp of a girl, barely sixteen, and had yet to grow out of a ten-year-old body. Her mind, however, was quick and impressive and she had been an asset when the wounded began to flood back into the village. An extra set of hands was helpful but a sharp mind was a gift from the Gods.

"There are none left, but that is alright. I doubt sleep will find me tonight Abigail," even her voice was barely awake but Abigail had heard her loud and clear.

"Perhaps something to eat, then? I haven't seen you eat since yesterday morning. I could run to the tavern and see if they have anymore lamb..."

"No," she stopped her mid-sentence. The word had come a little more forceful and short than she had meant so she followed it with a soft, but weary, smile. "Thank you much, Abigail, but I would rather the wounded eat when they can. They need their strength."

The clinic on the other side of the door was not as quiet as the office and Celestine could hear the painful moans of the men that were still alert. Abigail must have known what Celestine was thinking because she raised a thin hand as if to stop her from leaving the room.

"I will tend to them. Take a few moments to rest, at least. If there is an emergency then I will come get you."

With that, the girl left and closed the door behind her. Celestine sighed and pulled her wool shawl tight around her shoulders. The cold was fierce tonight, and they had pulled together all the blankets they could find to keep the injured warm. Her shawl was not much, but it kept the chill air from crawling over her. She leaned forward and folded her arms on the mess of papers and vials that littered the desk, propping her forehead on them. Maybe she could close her eyes for just a moment. She was certain Abigail and the other women had everything well in hand in the clinic....

Burn bright in to the night, burn at both ends, consume your
enemy, there is no honor in death only silence.


Wailing calls of sirens and dogs ripped over the
battlefield; low were the torches and distant was thy madness. Nightly patrols
were common though few returned in full force, often their task was to control
the front line an early warning for those who seek to sneak. Many knew of those
who were set out to patrol over the night often did not return, though on
occasion the patrol would return with the wounded or a prisoner. The hurried
cries of three men breached the air ‘Prepare the troops! Rally the line! They
invade by night!’ Called one of the runners, sending three back ensured that at
least one would return barring the message to its intended. Hoist high did the
torches their cowls removed, the clatter and call of arms would bring forth a
thunderous echo. The darkest of moonless nights grew brighter as the torches
did fuel, casting back the shadows yet playing further tricks on the eyes, the
steady rasping of earth to boot gave clear intentions, A troop was on the move
and with their movements under the starlit sky, there wasn’t a man alive
unprepared.


Wait in the silence under tang and forth weight valiant were
the knights and steadfast were the peasants. Lie down their lives for king and
country yet no man deserved the fate they did share. Ranks upon ranks man stood
shoulder-to-shoulder breast to back, frothing like dogs as they await their
future fate. Sword over shield rested to front, while reach of the spear would
assist in the plight; archers at the ready to send hellish in to the night.
Commanders did stand and call out to the men, as dogs they were bread only to
fight till the end.


On silken wings of the night a siren did sing the deaths of
men as they lie rest in their last bed. Dance in the light as they fought
scourge through the night, caught in his gaze a sudden blaze, rose from the
ground only to pour on down. They twist and they call no shield to protect them
all, as the beast did breathe and relish with glee as the front of the line now
lie burning to die.


Black slits did fly piercing all by eye, the call of the
string did soon to bring the falling of man as surely some ran. Cowards they
were but survivors we’ll see those who do run are traitors you see?


The battle raged on but soon the silence had rung as those
who live die and those who die live on. Limp back to your hole and prepare for
another flurry as the night is still young, but a wounded commander causes
worry. “Fall back!” Shouted others called forth with great horns retreat was in
order as this night battle was not but more murder.


The night air was cool and the battle was not won but a lone
warrior trudge home pricked not twice but just one. The heavy call of a man his
boots did chime a set of plates upon plates he bore with a ring. A strong rasp
against the door would raise nearly the dead as more wounded would need
attention or simply lie dead.


Out of the cold dark a figure would emerge larger in stature
than more men on this earth, Clad down with armor scales so pure and protected.
Jut from his back a pair of silvery wings leather in nature but no harm did he
seek. A powerful sword lie at peace to his hip as a towering shield rest firmly
in his fore grip, looking over the wounded and all the women who tended to them
he met the eyes of a young lass and nod as he did. “I require your aid or
perhaps the maiden of the clinic.” You see what armor can save and what armor
can do but protect him all this was not true an arrow was lodged and lodged it
was deep as pressed to his breast it did bleed sweet.


He stood tall and proud bearing his wound never showing a
sign of weakness before the troops, stand tall, stand handsome, stand up in
arms, stand with your friends or let die in your arms. This man was no simple
man but that of a Dragon Disciple a grouping of others who found within their
lines that somewhere in time their blood was blessed with that of a dragon.
Human in nature though he stood quite tall, A pair of silver leathery wings
smooth as could be rest upon his back, though large and impressive they would
tuck to fit within the clinic. His figure was that of a fighter, broad
shoulders strong body, chiseled good looks, but battle had worn against the
edges. Deep Brown hair with a streak of white just over his left ear, the most
impressive feature of his face was the mercurial silver within his eyes, the
haunting color and reflective properties of his eyes were enough to capture
anyone within his spell.

Sleep had found her very quickly. Barely having closed her eyes and, already, she was swimming within her dreams. She knew it was a dream. It had to be, because her mother was singing to her. Long pale her, just like hers, olive green eyes but, unlike Celestine, her mother was thin as a rail and much taller. She was a beautiful woman, but the harsh hands of grief and hunger had long ago wasted her to nothing. After the death of Celestine's father, her mother had worked her hands to the bone and ever scrap of food she was able to bring to their humble home went to her daughter's mouth, not her own.

A sweet lullaby flowed from her thing lips and soothed Celestine's soul and body. She was a sickly child, which was why her mother kept her so close at hand. Her mother made her medicines, sure, but they only kept her alive. They didn't soothe the symptoms. The only thing that made the headaches stop was her mother's lullaby.

Her eyes flew open as the young girl once again burst into the room. She had only just fallen asleep... hadn't she? Either way, her slumber was too soon ended but the look on the girl's face stopped Celestine short of any reprimand for startling her.

"What is it Abigail?" she asked, worried over the girl's wild eyes breathlessness.

Abigail walked towards her and dropped her voice low, but it was obvious that something had excited her near to bursting.

"Milady, there is another wounded just come in. He has very bad injuries. I... I don't know how he is still standing and speaking so calmly..." Celestine's brow quirked at this and she moved to walk to the clinic but the girl grabbed her shoulder.

"He is unlike anything I have ever seen."

"I am sure he is fine, Abigail. We've treated many races in these rooms. We will not turn him away for being different."

"But you don't.."

"If you are afraid of him then stay in here," was all Celestine said before making her way into the clinic.

Different indeed.

Her step was halted, nearly throwing her over herself at the abrupt stop in motion. Hi wings. She had heard of celestials and demons walking the realms as of late but had never seen one. His wings looked to be less angelic, however, and more of the latter. She swallowed hard as her eyes trailed the shape of those leathery wings to the man they were attached to and finally the arrows that were embedded in his skin.

How was he still standing indeed!

She tried to remain professional and gathered her skirt to step over a man laying asleep on the floor.

"Well met, warrior. I see you are in need of... healing." quite honestly, she was surprised he was not in need of a priest! "Come, we will help you" She would gesture to a bare spot on the floor, embarassed as she realized there was no more space after taking him.

Watching the girl vanish nearly to the back he undressed his sword and slung his shield to a rack, the heavy items would cause strain on the wood letting forth a soft groan as it could. Grasping some buckles he'd undress the broad plates that protected his shoulders and relieved some weight. Rolling his shoulders working slowly as he did the chest of his breast was pierced and would sit, it wasn't wise to remove an arrow till aid could be found for those who were dumb were dead with one simple sound. His eyes drift down his mind did wander looking over the blood a slight bit longer.

The sweet call of a door the hushed whispers they sang and yet yielded an angel who's voice tamed kings. His eyes drifted upwards slowly looking over the head maiden, caught in awe for a moment his lips his did wet as she spoke a sweet song which he did follow, A spot on the floor was just fine though he had to adjust himself. Slowly as not to spook the sweet woman his wings did extend at first out before slowly upward so as to be out of the way. Shifting down with a heavy thud the soft jingling of his armor dripped faintly with blood.

A slight scoff escaped his lips as she spoke of his need looking over his chest, "I've come down with a bleed." His form was large yet his nature was tender he was the softest giant that nature could render. As she grew close his smile grew wider it was apparent that this man was more than a fighter, he knew not of the woes that this woman did carry but knew that her beauty was just the beginning of their fairy.

Her eyebrow quirked as he made a jest at his injury. He spoke of it as if he had merely caught a cold. At first, she thought him mad... but the more she let his choice of words sink in the more her mouth spread into an amused grin.

"It is good to see you are still in high spirits," she said as he hunkered down as best his wings and remaining armor would allow him.

Abigail peeked out of the office, barely an eye showing around the door frame, but Celestine noticed her quickly.

"Abigail... fetch me any clean cloths you can find, some antiseptic salve, and whatever we have left for stitches."

The girl disappeared with the order and Celestine turned back to the man before her. She hovered over him, gaining herself a better look at the arrows that poked from his body. Her hand steadied over his armor, making sure not to press too firmly, as she inspected the angles of the two arrows embedded in it. They would be quite difficult to remove without causing more damage.

"Any more hits and you could pass for a porcupine," she whispered. Her tone was serious, but if he were to glance into her olive eyes he would see the spark of laughter within them.

"Abigail! Bring me a blade as well!" She shouted to her assistant but her return was much quicker than she thought it would be.

"I am sorry, Miss DeWitt. There are no more cloths. All have been soiled."

Celestine looked to the girl for a moment, her brow creased with exhaustion. With a sigh, she would stand taller and untie the shawl around her shoulders, settling down to her knees beside the man with the strange wings.

"A blade" she would order the girl and she accepted the knife handed towards her, pulling her shawl taught with one hand, holding the other end between her knees, and placing the blade's edge to the center, preparing to cut apart her last garment for warmth.