GENRE: YA High Fantasy
It’s easy, just like the first time.
Blood oozes through Micah’s fingers as he stops, relaxes his grip on the soldier’s still throat. Lowers the body to the ground. Steps back.
His brain stops. The hum and growl of the world fades away and he’s nothing. Just a boy with blood on his hands.
“Curse you.” It comes out as a croak, weak and venerable.
Weak? This has to stop. Now. He gets like this when he stays in the Mountains too long, pretending to be like his People. Hunt for food, guard the sick, watch the enemy burn through the Land and massacre the innocent. His hands will twitch, his legs ache to run, and he starts all over again.
He stares at the soldier’s black eyes, glassy but surprised, scared. With red smeared thumbs, Micah closes the eyelids. The jungle hisses around them, rustling with a hundred hungry eyes. Time to move on. Next target. The enemy deserves this. Even if it’s only one at a time, they deserve to die.
Feet crunch the ferns. Chainmail chinks. Sweat and the stench of the enemy pricks Micah’s nose and he stands, his body one with the thick jungle.
Micah lifts his longbow, slides an arrow onto the string. Sweat slides into the corner of his mouth. Tastes like blood.
“Here,” he says and steps in front of the second soldier.
After six years of this, he can’t reverse it, can’t fix it, can’t –