I have heard that revenge is sweet. I do not believe this is so; revenge is only emptiness with an arrogant title.
Justice is, perhaps, a different matter. But, I no longer understand such things. I feel no sweetness as I survey the carnage lying at my feet. The blood splatter covering me does not smell sweet. It gives, surprising to me, no satisfaction or sense of balance either. It feels only inevitable.
They had killed. Now they were dead.
There are those that praise me for such actions, those who call me noble and a warrior. I know they are wrong. As I stand with heaving breath in this land of cold and savage beauty I know I am still but a child. Still trembling in shock and fear behind a hill, still smelling the blood of her mother as it cools in the young spring grass. What I do now, I do because I have learned that others welcome it and think it right. I am given honor and sometimes riches for causing the death of such as these. It is a life. And now it is mine.
These will be my stories.