Steam rises from the ground and the stench of death is in the air. A young woman lies in a field, struggling to remain conscious amid the littered bodies of her fallen comrades and enemies alike. Her efforts are failing but determination, that fighting spirit within, refuses to bow down.
It is sunset and the sky is a mixture of bright orange and red. To her it looks on fire and though it's beautiful she is tired of fire. If she is to die she wants to see blue sky and white clouds. The woman has had enough of fire.
She hears the sound of footsteps, a surviving enemy no doubt. She wonders if she should pretend to be dead; she's nearly there already. And even though she is on the verge of death, she does not want to give her enemy the satisfaction of killing one more. But the footsteps aren't coming near her; they are a small distance away.
She takes the chance to painfully turn her head in the direction of the sound. The footsteps stop. There is a man, standing in the sun. He is tall and