I looked around, this tent was nothing like what i had seen before. After a moment of observation i sat in front of the old lady, she scrutinising me and i understood that she was waiting for me to tell her my story :
« I come from beyond the North Sea. Our people had never known war except for quarrels between clans inside the island. Until the day they arrived. Ships as high as the largest pines in the mountains. Armour as thick as rock and steel sharpened like Warg's teeth. Invaders from a distant continent. Their project was to convert us to their cult and make our island a land of fertile culture. Having never lived only among us, secluded from the world, they called us pagan, heretic. The massacres began in the coastal villages. Very quickly, our entire island paid the price of these barbarities. My father, as strong with his words as with his axe, united the clans and led the resistance.
My father died of dysentery after a siege we were losing. We had been fighting for almost 4 years. The battles lost were piling up on both sides. The dead... I don't even tell you about it. The clans decided to make me the new warlord, I was young, but fit. Courageous, and vigourous. After another 10 years of resistance, our people found themselves hungry, divided, broken... most clan leaders sided with the invader. After nearly 15 years of senseless war we have come to the sad reality that our "home" no longer belonged to us. We were too few. I was called a coward, but to save the few of mine that still remained I decided to flee our island. I prayed to the moon for the sea to be lenient, we are brave warriors and horsemen, but poor sailors. The sea unleashed and engulfed all that was left of my people. When I opened my eyes, I was here, on these lands that are still unknown to me. »
The lady asks me about my left arm and the scar on my face.
« It was my first battle. My first contribution to the struggle. I was young, too young, already a fighter but inexperienced. The invaders advocated the cult of fire, they used a lot of fiery weapons, I received a flame in flame that split my face and set fire to my left arm. My people thought I was dead, but I got up in the middle of the battle, under the rays of the moon, it gave so much hope to mine that we fought this battle hands down. After that, they called me Drural'os Silona (the shield of the moonlight) »
No one spoke anymore. I got up and I looked into a hole in the tent and saw the moon. It reminded me my home. L'île de la Lune.
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