❨ alone, a soldier — faline | day 1.5 ❩

we were just strangers left undone
a couple of prisoners on the run
with our faces towards the sun
we said our goodbyes

---

I run alongside Mackenzie, in the same direction, but the distance between us spreads wider with each new mile. My weapon rests against the curve of my shoulder, my satchel stuffed with what items I was able to scavenge during the bloodbath, and I look at the compass that’s held in my free hand. Mackenzie says Wynter and Ike went this way, that we’ll find them if we just keep going, and I want to help. I want to point us north, to send us east, to search the west and then find the south; but I’m not a navigator. I can’t read the stars. Bleeding legs, scraped arms. I’m a mess of violet hues and scarlet shades.

They must think me harmless — and I must be too stubborn to realize that I actually am. And it’s true that I don’t want to hurt anyone, that I don’t want a tribute to die with my blade skewered through their throat, but I want to live. I want to fight. Just an hour ago, I was bloodthirsty and screaming and I was a monster; just an hour ago, I was no better than the rest of them. I’ll never be. There are wolves that are lambs, and there are lambs that are wolves -- but what purpose does a girl have out in the field? In this forest of bones, of death and decay? None. I’m just a follower. I walk in the footsteps of someone greater than me.

I get lost.

Not really. Mackenzie’s gone, out of sight, but he’s still nearby. Close enough not to panic, far enough to clutch my glaive a little tighter. I can hear him just ahead of me, exploring the area and making sure that we’re safe. Going first because there might be a trap, or an ambush. Protecting me because maybe I’m worth something to him. He could be abandoning me, I realize, but I shrug off the thought before it festers in my mind. Some people are good, without a single bad intention. Most people aren’t me. And what exactly do I intend to do? What’s my plan of action? I move on, not waiting for his signal. Danger will find me wherever I am.

( It doesn’t matter
if the flags are red
— or  if they'rewhite.

We still die on the battlefield. )

My smile is forced when I pass him, head tilting. “Sorry. Got impatient.” I take in the giant tree, where he’s lead us to, and I allow myself to bask in the warm glow. In the splendor of it all. This place could be home. It’s not. I can’t stay here, we don’t belong here — but I still enter, looking over my shoulder. “I’ll be okay.” I want to be alone. I need to rest. There’s so much to say, nothing at all to express; and I’m so tired. Everything feels heavy. I think he understands. Jewels along the bark, roots circling around pools of crystal blue water -- I don’t stop walking until I see a bed. So strange, but so welcoming.

Crashing, I toss aside what I’m carrying. My items pour across the sheets, a few essentials and some that aren’t. A spiralling wand catches my eye, as if there’s any magic here — and I throw it against the wall. It shatters. And I want to drop the compass, to step on it and break the glass, but I can’t. Maybe one day I’ll learn how to use it. Maybe one day I’ll know where to go. I sleep for as long as I can, until my body aches a little less and our allies are finally found. I don’t greet them. The moon is high when I wake, the wind is gentle and we hide in the shadows. Where it’s so easy to see us, but so hard to find us. The night paints us invisible.

Dipping into a pool, I clean my cuts as best I can. Until they stop stinging. Until there’s no more blood in this tiny ocean of mine. Torn nightwear, wet hair down my back — I step outside, on my own, and I listen to the steel of this cage. It has nothing to say. It has so much to tell me. Beeping catches my attention, flashes of silver. Packages land at my feet, and I instinctively turn to call for Mackenzie, or Wynter, or Ike; anyone that isn’t me. But my name’s right there, parcels of medical supplies and a set of armor. I take all of it, selfishly, back to my room and quickly filling my new canteen on the way. Who’s supporting you, Faline? Is this a joke?

( I don’t answer myself.
I just go back to sleep
— and I survive. )

---

it's hard to forget when you won't stop
opening the mended wounds
you tear out the pages and hold them up
but I don't need a mirror

song: Strangers - Wave & Rome