Ah, that is one of my morning reads ha-ha, I love the story thus far.
I have never truly done more than four paragraphs per post, so I am unsure I would be able to place as much into a story as I have seen in your own, though I am not above giving it my best try. I would hate to start something only to let you down, though if you are willing to give it a shot I would be more than willing to as well. If not, no hard feelings.
as for a sample the closest I have is this:
Did he see it in my eyes when I asked? It is most likely, the Popori holds more wisdom than I think most give him credit for. I am not used to asking for anything, but now, now I have no choice. Find a reason to remain or die, I tried drinking away the feeling of doom and heartbreak, it only made me think more. I tried throwing myself at the argons in hope I either found some purpose or ended what seemed so very pointless, it didn't work, one look at Vaucent, Khaya and even my beloved friend Silver Tongue, the one that now held truth at the Prince's side, a death dealer and spy for the Prince, ended it before it began, he may very well become my death, but I can not leave him like that, we have stood too long at each other's side. That is what hurts the worst. Should the Prince call for truth about how I feel and find the truth of what I see, there is little hope for more than a quick death, and there lies my greatest fear, not of death but of death at the hands of one that is nearer to my soul than any love, many think we are mates, though we are not we are something, every move we make in battle is testament to how well we are synced. Should he ever call for a battle to claim me, there is no doubt he would win and though I fear becoming mates may well kill some part of each of us, for we are not the kind to be tied to one, there is no doubt that it would happen. If this happens, would I live long enough to bare our offspring, or would we perish beneath the wieght of words trusted. Thus my thoughts twisted and rang, echoing within my skull and my soul as bloodlust twisted within my body, Bertha had sang without delay until the Popori guiding me somehow pulled me away from the maelstrom of thought and deed and blood, but I am getting ahead of myself, and to write this out properly, I must start from the beginning of the event.
It started with my asking, I asked the Centurion for battle, and with an odd look from his twitching snout he, within moments, had us mounted on dragons and headed to battle a foe I had not expected.
Was it intentional the foe he set us out to face, I do not know, though were he not there I would have died that first incounter, for never have I been more in shock. I stared into the eyes of my people, twisted by some evil that I could not name and I froze. Was this what others saw in me? was I this twisted creature...then the attack landed, I was no where near prepared, Bertha could not sing without my swing, and then the Centurion came in, I don't know what happened but one moment I was nigh dead by my own kin, the next I was in a rage, and as the pain sharpened my body, a purr of pure pleasure tearing through my throat I realized I was not this creature. The beautiful dance of pain through my body pushing me forward, Bertha singing without fetters as those that I should have called kin fell at our feet like rain. I would like to say I prayed for each as they fell, but I did not, they died with what little honor remained to them, fighting. And We were their death knell, I will never doubt the Centurion Rauku's talent, nor will I again doubt my own, for in that field of blood and song I carried the true weight of the federation, and the peace I had sworn to protect and recreate but the removal of those that threatened it. How long we fought, how many times the mystic's magic kept me from death as the fields ran red with the blood of those that attacked us, is beyond me. I don't know how he got me to stop, when the bloodlust soars even Silver Tongue lets me go until I collapse, such is how I am. Though many call me untrained and a child, I dare say in battle that child is savage and without ties, that child has ravaged fields of foes without qualms. Yet something pulled me from my rage, no....someone with a heart more pure than the greatest priestess.
I found myself being mended and bandages by caring paws, staring at waterfalls that took my breath away. It was a paradise among the blighted, a beautiful promise of the future we could create, and it was sacred to the Popori at my side. I will never be able to thank him for sharing this dream of heaven with me, but I gave the only thing I could, the promise to show him my own, only Silver Tongue knows where I find my peace, but the Centurion more than earned the knowledge of it's beauty. I shall have to take him soon, let him see the beauty in the darkened places as he has shown me the beauty in the light.
Between the great pauses of meditation and the soft sighs of peace we found at the waterfalls, we spoke, of simple things that burdened the soul, I do not know him as I have come to know Little Mother, I could not speak on my sorrows, but I asked of those I loved, Khaya, my dear sweet Little Sister, so strong for all to see, but there was a frailty there that had me wishing to protect and hide her from the horrors I saw. He saw the same I think, and it soothed my soul the care he took with her. Little Mother had claimed I did not trust, but I think she did not see that I did, I trusted her to take in my words and not twist them away to harm me or others, and at that waterfall, I began to trust the Centurion beside me, mayhaps not with the thoughts and feelings of my wounded soul, but with those I loved and with my own life, for he had shown a care to keep it intact. When we left it was almost with regret, for now we would return to the horrors we faced every day, leaving the promise of that gentle place, surrounded by blight, as only a sacred place can be.
Though I had asked for battle to find myself, find a reason to continue, it was after the bloodshed that I found it. If I could learn to trust the popori, and find myself still worrying about those I had come to love, if the memory of Little Mother and her words could stir in me the need to protect these people I had somehow become a part of, even if only on the fringes. then I could not throw away the life I had, and so Here I sit, surrounded by hay and the smell of stalls, a cruelly safe memory from my slavery and write this journal, with one sad truth in my mind and heart, though I think him vain, frilly and more like the slaveowner that ruined any chance I had at becoming what he calls a true aman, I would die to protect him, if only for the hope that somehow he will find within himself to save those I love. Even though I know in my deepest heart, he will bring us all to death, as his twisted sense of purpose guides him to folly, I find myself understanding Little Mother's niave hope that he will grow into what we need, I find myself fighting not to fall into the same trap, for if I do, how will I combat it when it happens, no, I will protect those I love however I can, by remaining strong against the horror he could bring if his folly leads us to the dream too soon. But I will die to keep him alive, to give him the chance to prove me wrong, dear gods grant me the prayer that I am wrong. Please.