Sole Katti

Written by: Spotlite



Bunnies. Fluffy...Pink...Bunnies.

- The locker room stank of blood and sweat. Grooves cut in the walls from swords and lances showed evidence of a fight. A brutal one at that; the intestines plastered to the ceiling were proof enough of that. A flute played softly in the back of her mind. The eerie silence caught hold of her, so the exit was her only path.

- If there was but one time in her life that she wished she could have redone, it would have been the time her mother asked her to travel down to the village of Kihito to send her brother a message. She said no, and her mother questioned why. She responded “Because I hate you,” her bad day had been building in a slow, horrible way. Her mother ran out of the room crying, and their relationship was never the same. What a horrendous day...

- The sounds of swords clashing and men screaming filled her ears like a glass under running water. Her own blade dragged through the dirt to swing upward, but it was cut short by a heavy spear wielding paladin riding on horse back. The holy rider took out her foe and advanced on her on foot; his armor clanked in a most annoying fashion.

The heap of battle-worn metal approached at an amazing speed for an armor-clad warrior and sprang into the air mere feet away from her. Nano-seconds beforehand, she rolled to the side before the massive 500 pound impact barreled into the ground, crater and fissure close behind. Quickly swinging to the west, he caught her with a hook on the side of his spear. The weapon immediately darted strait up, tearing her from the ground and flinging her into the air like a rag doll attached to a string. Her leg ripped from the cursed hook sending her flailing to the ground; the landing popped her back out of place and her legs lost all feeling.

“Bit off more than you could chew, eh laddie?”

“I suppose so. But even steel can be bent by stone.”

“What?”

Her waist spun onto itself, sending her spiraling into a standing position. Her entire body wobbled; her legs acting as nothing more than two fleshy pillars for little support. She dropped to her hands and flipped her lower body forward, forcing her feet into the open section of the paladin’s helmet. Shocked and confused, he fell backwards throwing his lance to the north and blood from his broken nose to his feet. With all her efforts, she picked up her claymore, the Sole Katti, and slammed it downwards into his gazing face with her entire weight. His body and voice writhed under the pain for a moment, then fell silent and still. He was dead and she was handicapped far too badly to continue fighting. Her only hope was to lie still next to the body and hope nothing decided to stab her to make sure she was really dead.

There she lay for 15 hours; the battle was down the 7 men on her clan’s side, and 5 on the enemy’s. This had been a nightmarish battle for all. Her hopes rose when she saw the last enemy fall under the four pounding swords of her brethren. She arose to her hands and called out to them, joy in her voice. They came over to her aide, supporting her on their shoulders, and left the battle field.

With her left leg permanently damaged from the encounter with the honored paladin, she spent the rest of her days telling the story to her children, her children’s children, and so on. The story passes through the generations even to this day.

- The last thought. The final memory. The epitome of all her ponderings and wonderments came to this final phase in her life. Of the 300 men that entered that battle so long ago, only five, including herself, survived. She lost her father in that war, and her mother died from an unknown disease that affected her lungs. She herself lived to the old age of 97. She had four kids and many grandchildren. Was she ready to die? Did her life feel complete? Was it all said and done?

Yes. Yes, it was complete. Let go, Wren. Let go.

The End.