The blistering cold wind brushes against the bare skins of your arms, so cold that it's almost painful, and yet also something of a relief as it dries the sweat beading on your skin. The first rays of dawn are beginning to peek over the horizon from the newly rising sun, causing the snow and ice beneath your feet to glitter and sparkle almost blindingly. You glance down from the edge of the cliff where you stand, wiping the sweat from your face with a rag as you take in the sight below you with your awe filled gaze. Snow capped mountains and tall pine trees spread out for as far as the eye can see, split down the middle by a fast rushing river, glinting in the sunlight. The sight never fails to steal the breath from your lungs, even more so when you remember that one day, it will all be yours.

My home, you think reverently as your eyes flick over the towering trees that sway in the breeze, heavily dusted with pure white snow. You study the picture perfect scene, your fingers twitching with the desire to put charcoal to parchment, to recreate the picture that you've sketched a thousand times before and are yet to tire of. This is your home, this is your sanctuary, and it's fucking beautiful.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of careful, but too heavy feet crunching snow beneath each cautious step. You listen to the almost inaudible rustle of fabric, breathe in the smell of sweat and dirt and earth and let a tiny smile tilt your lips. You wait patiently, your body remaining motionless and relaxed, even as your thumb rubs against the hilt of your sword in silent anticipation.

You hear the subtle intake of breath, your cue, and you spin around gracefully, muscles shifting and tensing as your bring up your sword to block the blow aimed at your head. The shrill shriek of a sword sliding down the length of your blade pierces your ears, as a heavy pressure pushes you down into an almost crouch. You let your thighs take the added weight, bending your knees before you vault upwards, pushing your opponent a step backwards before taking advantage of his momentary lack of balance to slam the hilt of your sword into his chest.

He hits the ground with a thud and a choked gasp and you shake your head with a small smirk.

"What does Echo think when you return home every morning, bloody and bruised?" You ask the man panting on the snow covered ground with a grin. He groans loudly at your words and a laugh escapes from your lips in a huff at the sound. "Does she know that you're up here at dawn every day, getting your ass handed to you by a girl that's half your size?"

"She knows," the man wheezes in response, rubbing his hand against his broad chest in an attempt to sooth the pain. "She is surprised that I don't come back on a litter most days, after sparring with the infamous azgeda prisa, slayer of mountain leopards."

You roll your eyes with an amused snort. "That was one time, Belomi."

"And one big mountain leopard, from what I hear," Belomi says, his voice still slightly accented to your ears, as he finally pushes himself into a sitting position with a wince. He runs his fingers through his shaggy dark hair, brushing it away from his attractive face with a smirk. "I almost got you this time though."

"You weren't even close," you retort with a grin, reaching out your hand to pull the man off the ground with a soft grunt. "But I will not lie; you have improved. Though, those trikru feet of yours need to remember that they are no longer skulking along the forest floor. It's been two years, Bell, you need to learn how to tread more lightly or you'll never win a fight against any of the azgedakru, even the children."

"My trikru feet are just fine," Belomi says easily, without the scorn or disdain that would have laced those words mere years ago, before the coalition. "I'll think about extra stealth training in the snow when you can climb a tree faster than me, Klark."

"Climbing a tree won't save you from a snow leopard," You respond lightly, sliding your sword into the sheath on your back as Belomi picks up his pack and throws it over his shoulder, gesturing towards the path with a tilt of his head.

You lead the way down the side of the mountain, placing your feet carefully upon the ground and avoiding the almost invisible patches of ice that will send you careening off the edge. Belomi's steps are much lighter behind you and you grin as you imagine his expression of concentration as he places his feet carefully in the snow.

Silence persists between the two of you comfortably as you climb down the mountain, though it's broken once your feet are back on solid ground, by Belomi's forced nonchalant voice. "Have you spoken further with your mother about the trip?"

You clench your teeth together at the calmly spoken question and it's an effort to unlock your jaw enough to reply. "There is no such thing as 'further discussion' with the Queen, Belomi."

"So, you're coming then?" Belomi asks softly, though the hope in his voice is barely concealed. "To the capitol?"

"I have no choice," you reply with forced casualty. "It has been two years since the coalition bonded our people together and my mother has not returned to Polis since. She can stand the Commander no more than I, and she will not bend a knee to her again in this lifetime, if she has her way, so the honor falls to me."

Silence falls briefly after your less than subtle sarcasm, before Belomi clears his throat awkwardly. "The Commander will be pissed."

"The Commander," you spit the title with more venom than even you expect. "Should be grateful that she has my pleasant face to deal with, rather than that of my mother. At least I can still be somewhat reasonable in her presence, the Queen is more likely to spit in her face than listen to anything that she has to say."

Belomi hums in an agreement, before gently shoving your shoulder with his arm. "And what a pretty face it is, prisa."

His words surprise a laugh from your lips and you meet his dark eyes with a sly grin. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Belomi."

Your shared laughter echoes off the mountains that surround your path as you wander unhurriedly back towards your city.

The city of the azgedakru sits at the base of the tallest mountain in your territory, bracketed on three sides by giant handmade walls of stone, to protect it from avalanche and enemies, held together by the blood of the azgedakru that built it. The front gate is made of wood and rock, standing at almost fifty feet tall, and the heavy wooden doors are intricately carved with scenes of battles long since fought and won by your people, a reminder to all those who enter the city.

The sight of it has brought tears to your eyes more than once, after many long trips away from the home.

"Home, sweet home," Belomi says fondly, causing a smile to pull at the corner of your lips. The man at your side had not stepped foot inside your territory for anything other than war, up until two years ago. He had been visiting the city with a handful of warriors from the capitol, to seek out a nightblood child that had been born the previous spring, when he had met Echo. He'd left the capitol a few days later, only to return after a moon and he hadn't left since, except for the short trips he took to visit his sister in Tondisi, every few moons.

You had hated each other when you first met, but time and hardships had brought you together and now he was one of your closest friends.

"Go and say your last goodbyes to your woman," you smile at him, laying a sympathetic hand on his muscular shoulder as you walk through the doors of the city. "It'll be a while before we can return, so make it count. We'll meet back here with the others in an hour."

Belomi gives you a casual salute before swagging away, his lithe form disappearing in mere moments in the city's early morning hustle and bustle. You sigh as you turn to walk down the main street, your blue eyes flickering over the comfortable wooden huts and the market stalls that border along the dirt path that leads towards your home. You eyes soak up every inch of the city, from the small bonfires that burn brightly at regular intervals along the street, to the people who walk alongside you, your people. You will miss your home as you always do when you are forced to leave it, though you know that this time will be worse, if only because where you are heading.

You pause briefly to watch the sekens training in the city square, their blunted blades clashing together with growing skill. Your blue eyes are filled momentarily with bitterness and envy as your gaze flickers over the harsh but proud faces of the masters as they train the young warriors. Your mother had refused every warrior that had offered to take you under their wing when you were young, forcing you to train with her from the age of three. She hadn't allowed you to take a seken either, once you had reached your eighteenth year. She'd taken those honorable opportunities away from you; keeping you for herself to be certain that you would turn out exactly the way she wanted.

She'd gotten half of her wish; you were one of the best warriors that had ever been born in your clan and one day, you would make a great leader, but your bitterness had lasted long into your adult years, dimming your respect for her and her rule. You loved her still, but your knees didn't bend as effortlessly as they should at her command.

You turn away from the sekens and their masters with a sigh and continue your journey.

With every step, you draw closer to the stone building, which had once been a place of worship in the old world, that you called home. The slate gray stone building stood proudly in the center of the city, with thick wooden doors that kept the frigid winds of your territory out. Coloured glass, with cracks and missing shards made up the windows, and you smile at the rainbow coloured rays they reflected from the early morning sunlight. The two warriors that stand guard outside the doors hurriedly push them open for you upon your arrival and you give a small nod of thanks as you stride into the brightly lit building.

"Klark." A familiar voice calls to you immediately as you step inside and you instinctively clench your jaw as you tilt your head to regard the speaker. She stands proudly beside one of the stained windows, the colours splashing across her pale face and sparkling in her brown eyes as she regards you in turn. A thick grey cloak, made from the fur of the wolves that stalk your territory, rested upon her shoulders and encased her thin form, and a dagger rested at her hip, the hilt held casually by her hand.

"My Kwin." You return formally, tilting your head in respect and earning a small frown from the other woman. The displeasure on her face gives you more satisfaction than it probably should.

"Klark," your mother sighs softly, stepping towards you with only a hint of hesitation. It's an effort not to step backwards on instinct. "Please. Don't leave like this."

"I wouldn't be leaving at all if you hadn't commanded it," you say, failing to keep the bitterness from your voice. You hold up your hand to stop the reply about to burst from the older woman's lips and you're thankful when she complies. "I understand, mother, I do, but I don't have time to talk about this. I need to leave now if I have any hope of reaching the capitol before the summit."

You can see that your mother wants to argue, but she merely purses her lips in an effort to stop the words from spilling out. She nods her head once, sharply, before gesturing towards your things that are packed and waiting by the stairs that lead up to the living quarters. You nod your head in thanks and swing your heavy pack over your shoulder, listening to the clink of weapons that you have hidden inside in abundance.

"I want you to send me a message as soon as you find out why we were summoned," Your mother and queen says as you pick up your leopard skin cloak and lay it over your free shoulder. "It must be something important if the Commander even thought to send for us to journey to Polis, two months before the spring festival, no less."

"Of course, my Kwin," you answer obediently, feeling the same curiosity that you can see glinting in your mother's eyes. The Commander never calls upon azgeda if she can help it, so you know that the reason behind the summit must be of the utmost importance. You almost smirk to think of how she will react to your presence, rather than that of your mother's.

Not well, you think, almost gleefully. Not well, at all.

"Do not let her intimidate you, Klark," Your mother says firmly, her brown eyes hard. Your fingers clench tighter around the straps of your bag at the not so subtle warning and you tilt your head in reply. "She may be young, but she is smart and cunning and she will try to manipulate you into getting what she wants, if she thinks that she can. She is not to be trusted, under any circumstances. You know what she wants for us and our people."

"I know." You say, and you do know. You will never forget the last time you saw the commander, the last time your eyes met those hard green orbs that seemed to stare right through you. It had been your first and last meeting with the commander of the twelve clans and the memory still caused your chest to ache and ache and ache.

Your mother sighs softly when you answer, her face softening momentarily as she gazes at you. "Be careful, Klark."

Her words are enough to soften your eyes, if only slightly and you nod your head once as your mother reaches out to cup your cheek, her calloused palm brushing roughly against your skin.

"May we meet again," she says, the words of your people, and it softens you further. Come back to me.

"May we meet again," you return, and then you are gone.

A party of thirty strong waits for you near the entrance to the city and you can't help the smirk that pulls at the corner of your lips.

"What is this?" You call loudly as you wander up to the group that is crowded around the gates, causing heads to spin so fast you fear they may snap. "I asked for a group of five. Can you not count, Belomi?"

"Not my idea," Belomi says, holding his hands up as he professes his innocence, before turning to point his fingers at the woman standing by his side, saddling her horse. "This is all on her."

"Of course, it is," you chuckle, winking at Monti as he hands you the reins to your horse with a sheepish grin. "Of course."

"Well, can you blame me, prisa?" The woman in question asks indignantly as she turns to meet your stare, and it's an effort not to let your lips spread in a full blown grin when you notice her sly expression. Her dark eyes are glinting with mischief and her lips are parted in a grin, revealing straight white teeth. "I mean, can you imagine the Commander's face when she see's all of us?"

"Yes," you sigh with mock frustration as you attach your bag to your horse's saddle before turning to face your friend since birth. "She will likely take us for a war party and have us executed on sight, Raven."

"She wishes," Raven grins as she reaches forward to grasp your forearm warmly, before her expression becomes somewhat serious. "You haven't been to the Polis since your fourteenth year, Klark. I want you to make a lasting impression on those capitol shits."

You smile slightly as you squeeze your friend's arm before releasing it, taking a deep breath and letting your lips spread in a grin as you take in the faces of the people surrounding you, your friends.

"I think you will get your wish," you say with a soft breath of laughter, smiling as Raven nudges your shoulder with hers. "But I swear, the first person that complains about the two week journey to the capitol, will not live to regret it."

You listen to the almost synchronized chorus of, 'yes, prisa,' with a grin before you mount your horse with ease, sliding comfortably into the saddle and taking the reins in your hands.

"Okay," you say as your comrades mount their beasts around you, before you trot to the head of your little army. "Let's move out, people."

You don't allow yourself to look back as you lead your party out the gates, but a ball of dread slowly begins to build in your stomach as you leave the city further and further behind.