I awoke with a start. It was time.
All my stuff was hidden in the closet and under the bed. I figured if we were sneaking around like ninjas, I should probably dress like one. So, I had black pants, a black tank, a black jacket, and dark boots. Then came the weapons. I loaded up with my bow, my staff, and my hunting knife. I put on the arm and shin guards Dad gave me when we first started training together, admiring the mystical engravings weaving down the sides of them. Not that the armor would do me any good in the long run; it was just for buying time. And some courage, I guess.
I redid my hair into a bun, held tightly by pine needle pins. I put in more than I needed; Pine needles served as decent distracting tools. They hurt as much as a knife without being as deadly. Especially when stabbed between highly susceptible laces. I found that out by accident when Dad wore his boots into my room once and I enthusiastically jabbed at his feet.
I slid on my helmet, carefully avoiding the pins that I could only see with moonlight. I couldn’t turn the light on or somebody would notice. There was a strict no-lights rule, especially before a storm. Nobody wanted a magic shortage when it came to injuries and tree repair.
I paused a moment, looking at myself. This was more like something from the costume party I was just at, not the suit of a warrior. Sure, I had armor and a helmet, but nothing would keep me safe from what I was going to face in the coming hours.
I was fighting my fate. I had seen it. It was inevitable.
And I was doing it anyway.
Maybe you could call that reckless or foolish. And maybe you’d be right.
I called it faith in the One who made me.
Though it may help you to know that I still felt reckless and foolish all the same. You tend to feel that way when you’re walking straight into your own death trap.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish