Home

She stood on the bridge, looking forward. Her armor was hanging heavily on her shoulders now, blood streaking her face. Far below, she could see the water raging and felt a kinship with it as it smashed against the rocks. Somewhere far away, somewhere held close in her mind and her memory, there was a town and a home and a man. Reaching into a pouch stained with dirt and blood, she produced a small metal disc. Held within was a picture, a tiny painted portrait of a man and a child. That was her home, her heart, and as she took a shaky breath and winced, she knew she wouldn’t be making it back. The painting slipped from her fingers, falling to the water far below.

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