Found between moss and blood

1.Warning: The story contains moments of mutilation and violence.

2.There are visual images hidden in the comments, don't miss them!

_______________________________



I'm not a warrior.

I'm not a heroine.

I'm the one who draws where they fell.

When everyone is rushing into battle, I draw the borders.

When one shouts "forward!", another "hold your shield!" - I mark where the earth crunches differently.

I'm a cartographer.

A documentarian.

An eyewitness. A witness. Not a participant.

Why?

Because when someone writes "victory", I want to know how many corpses are left behind this word.

Because I was not chosen.

I was chosen.

The guild did not accept me right away.

"Like, a girl with a map, who needs you if you can't shoot, cut, heal?"

Then my route was saved by the squad. My drawing led them out of a trap.

And then it turned out that a map on which every bush and corpse is marked is needed more than a pompous swordsman.

I will not become a legend. But I know where she went wrong. And that's enough for me.