Sharal the Hunter runs from the Warrior of Destruction. 
She has lost all honour, all reason, all possessions but the skins that  cover her.
Her village burns, all she has known forever ashes. 
This ought to be a phantom nightmare.
Here, now, it is horribly … overwhelming.
Heart, blood, breath, these are what matter understands.
Mind is elsewhere, screamed into submission, reptilian —
Heart, blood, breath.
Tremors reverberate,
shake tree limbs, waver
vision.  Desolate chaos waits ahead.
Grabbing strength enough to veer,
steer clear,
running thoughtless through loss.
Warily accepting alliance to uncharted,
Unencumbered by long held terrors,
Ready by necessity to make do,
to start from simplest principles.
Who am I, today?
Tomorrow will take care
of itself.

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