Tamara’s grip tightened around her weapon, barely noticing that her hand had become slippery from all the blood. She did not feel the pain; she did not feel anything — she couldn’t afford such distractions amidst the battle.
She was used to being tough and unyielding — it was part of their life, part of her. She had realized long ago she would never be as delicate as her sister or as gracious as her mother. Her own strength was rough, primal, and fierce. All she needed in life was to feel the weight of her weapon in her hand and the bittersweet taste of victory.
That was when she felt truly alive.
So it surprised her when she found herself wishing she was far away from the battlefield and on one of those ships instead, safe and sound, with her brother by her side. Fear was beneath her
