exhausted soldiers trickled past Lysandra as she trudged between them, wearing the form of a horse. She’d allowed a young man onto her back when she’d spied his guts nearly hanging out of his rent armor. For long miles, his leaking blood had warmed her sides as he lay sprawled over her. The warm trickle had long stopped. Frozen. So had he. She hadn’t the heart to dislodge him, to leave his dead body on the field to be trampled. His blood had frozen him to her anyway.
KOA - my heart aches for her rn
