Warm, Sticky, Sweet

Shanka gazed down at the valley, at the scattered bodies of men and women alike. She’d never wanted it to come to this. She’d spent years building and training an army, creating a new life. And now it had to end.

She’d much rather have killed Rastaban in his sleep.

“You’re so stubborn,” she said.

Battle exploded across the valley. Dying screams and clashing metal rang toward the sky.

Rastaban writhed, and Shanka saw him straining, reaching for his sword.

Not strong enough, Shanka thought, and drew the blade across his throat. Warm life spilled across her hands, sticky, sweet.