Chapter 1
Ethan
waited for death to claim him. His only wish now was to sit at the table with
his ancestors in celebration, away from the immense pain that overwhelmed his
body and mind. He no longer knew how long he had been lying on the bed
paralysed and in isolation. In his current state of semi-consciousness, the war
where he had secured his fatal wounds seemed so far away in time. He hadn't
expected the battle to end in his demise.
A
good week before the battle, he had felt confident. He had been in good health
and he had felt strong of body and mind. Strategy had been put in place; it
should have been an easy fight and win. They had outnumbered the enemy, and he
knew, as the head of his tribe, that his men were well skilled and that they hungered
for the win. But things had not gone to plan. He had woken up on the day of the
battle not feeling quite himself. He had felt weak, his limbs not responding as
quickly as they usually did to his commands. His mind had felt hazy.
He
had not let the negative change in him deter him from the battle. He was his
people's leader; he could not show any hesitation or weakness. It would put the
enemy at an advantage, to expose a weak spot to them, and he did not want to
bring concern to his people who were eager for the kill and to bring glory to
their land.
So
he had rode out with his men, fully armoured, starting the war-cry as he
clashed with the enemy again and again. At first, he thought he would be fine
and would be able to preserve his energy until the end. He drew swords with man
after man, successfully bringing them to the ground. But his movements started
to become sluggish, his mind was not able to comprehend each adversary's
movements quick enough to react with killer blows. It was thus only a matter of
time until a fatal blow was struck against him and he fell to the ground.