As promised, a chapter up on the first day of August ;) Personally, I'm super excited for this story and what you all think, because I had the best time writing it! I went 20,000 words over my goal for Camp NaNoWriMo, so I've got about 20 chapters finished already. Not edited, mind you, but finished. To make sure I can update this thing on a regular schedule, I'll be posting new chapters every three days. That'll give me the time to edit and to finish up the last 5 chapters ;) And maybe halfway through this, I'll put up a poll so you lovely readers can tell me if you want me to write the book 4 idea that's been swimming around in my head. Details on it are in my profile.

Without further ado, the prologue of THATH! ;D

Disclaimer for this entire story: I don't own Narnia or its canon characters. just my OCs and some of the events ;)

Prologue

A timid sun peeks through the thick canopy of the forest, its light mostly filtered into pale streaks by the leaves. The sun, who has seen everything, must be grateful to the trees for blocking its view. The sun has never liked the sight of blood.

Armor-clad sprites march through the forest as quietly as silence itself, all on high alert for any sign of another living soul. Their scouts have not come back, and after a week of waiting, this band of warriors cannot wait any longer to proceed. Staying in one place is dangerous in this war; the last group to remain in one place for over ten days was slaughtered in its sleep, and not a single one survived.

Rhoslyn almost jumps out of her skin when a less trained, less careful soldier steps on a twig. The resounding snap rips through the silence, sounding ten times louder than it actually is to the band of wary sprites. Several whip around and almost make noise in their surprise, but each would-be disturber of the forest's quiet is caught by a comrade. The collective sigh of relief that goes through the group is silent, yet almost dizzying in its intensity. Any sound could mean alerting the rebels to their whereabouts, and hence bait an ambush. Few ever survive from rebel ambushes, and none return unmaimed.

All seems well as well can be in civil war.

When the first arrow flies into Rhoslyn's arm, she swallows her cry of pain instinctively, trained to make no sound at all out in the field of potential battle. When the second pierces her abdomen, she can't help her tiny bleat. Instantly, every member of her band flies together to form a tight circle, weakest ones behind the strongest. Rhoslyn herself is quickly pushed into the very center, where she pulls the first arrow from her arm with a hiss and her cousin pulls the second from her torso. The first rebels come into sight just as each wound is tightly bound with scraps of Rhoslyn's cousin's cloth shirt, worn underneath his lightweight armor.

Each of the rebels' faces are covered by veil attached to the front of their helmet, and they attack like snakes: striking quickly only to withdraw just as fast, moving so quickly through the trees and brush that they seem to hiss through the forest around the band. The sprites have no choice but to break their emergency formation; they need every soldier they have. Together they form another circle, though the second is hollow. The youngest fall quickest to the rebels' strikes, and the strong are killed in their attempts to help them.

Rhoslyn can't help but think that perhaps the rumors are true: no one can be surprised in a skirmish and live to tell the tale.

Fear starts to spread through the soldiers as more and more are wounded or killed. Their movements become clumsy, miscalculated, sloppily aimed. More fall.

Hissing rebels pick off the shrinking group with grim determination, and their next target is always the one who screamed last. It almost seems to be mercy in its cruelest, most twisted form; they strike fear into their prey, and quickly kill the most terrified.

The soldier to Rhoslyn's immediate right begins to quake in fear. She's only fifteen, and nowhere near ready to die. A rebel darts toward her, but one of Rhoslyn's throwing knives buries itself in his throat. Gurgling and choking in his own blood, the rebel falls to the ground at the trembling girl's feet. Her scream of terror still rings through the air, even after her eyes fall on the dead body of her attacker. Before the girl can even murmur a thank you to Rhoslyn, a spear impales her from behind. A gasp of sorrow and horror almost passes from Rhoslyn's lips, but she saves it for later. Any sound means her death is next.

A seasoned sprite warrior nearby struggles with a rebel as Rhoslyn tries to fend off a striking one herself. The rebels never go in for the kill, not until their victim is almost mindless with panicky despair. Each strike is simply another small wound - a cut on a limb, a crack in a bone, a hit that will surely bloom into a nasty-looking bruise later. All the strikes but the death blow are meant only to inspire frightful foreboding. Whether this tactic is one of glee and malice or twisted mercy, Rhoslyn can't decide. Perhaps, she thinks, it is a mixture of both. Their leader must be even worse than the rumors say.

One of Rhoslyn's friends suddenly bolts off into the forest in a mad dash from the suspense of the rebels' attack. She'd been one of the first to join the sprite army when the war broke out. Now, the snake-like strikes have worn down her bravery too much. Before Rhoslyn can even call her back, her final shriek echoes through the trees.

All too soon, blood loss from her two arrow wounds begin to take their toll. Rhoslyn's sword seems to get heavier with each swing, and even her throwing knives don't hit their targets as well as usual. The seasoned warrior still fights on, and that's enough of a comfort and inspiration that she keeps her fear under control. If this is her last fight, it will also be her best. Hopefully. Already, Rhoslyn's vision is beginning to swim ever so slightly. She'll be dead soon, no doubt. At least she left no goodbyes unsaid.

Sivan, the middle-aged warrior who'd seen more battles than most sprites twice his age, begins to fade in strength as Rhoslyn feebly fights off the striking rebel. Another joins in attacking Sivan just as Rhoslyn falls to her knees, one hand pressed to her abdomen and the other struggling to hold on to her sword. It's far too heavy, and she drops it in favor of her dagger, but a throwing knife is all she can reach before her rebel attacker strikes again. It offers little protection, and she knows that her best protection now is to not be afraid. Only the ones who give in to the fear are killed. By far, this has included every member of the band. But perhaps, if she resists, she may yet survive, and she can tell the others!

Sivan may hold out as well, it seems. Even though the two rebels besetting him manage a stab each, he refuses to make any noise. If he can endure such severe wounds so stoically, surely Rhoslyn can endure hers as well. When the flat of a sword crashes into the side of her head, she buries her yelp in her renewed courage.

As she leaves consciousness and collapses face-first into the dirt, she hears Sivan fall to the ground as well. Neither makes a sound. They may yet live.

Every other sprite lies dead throughout the woods around them.

Man, writing battle scenes is HARD. Seriously. I should practice more I guess...but hey, you guys can be the judge! ;)

Please do let me know what you thought! :D