our altar is the battlefields

Damira was no fighter; the fading scar on her neck proved as much. But she had done her best against the worm and that was more than could be said for many who had died that day. The odds were innumerably stacked against her and she emerged, perhaps not in victory but alive all the same with a new perspective on things. She didn't know her fellow band members very well at this point, most familiar with her brother and perhaps Bjorn and Akito, but everyone else might as well have been strangers.

Still, she knew well enough to play along, to ask how high if told to jump.

Settling amongst the gathering crowd she watched and waited like all else, nothing special.