The Modern Tales of Faerie - Tithe, Valiant, and Ironside

The scent of blood rides high
on the wind,
with its traces of cold, black iron,
rotted earth, dying flesh,
and i stagger backward
as the smell, pungent
and terrible
fills my nostrils.
It stinks and brings
tears to my eyes
[space]I hat this rank stench.
I stand on a hill, called Breguoin,
beneath a a young rowan tree,
its slender
grey trunk, rising
above me,
sheltering and hiding me,
protecting me.
Also a witness
to awful events.
The rowan tree's
graceful leaves and soft
white flowers
brush my arm like
a whisper. But
they do not shield me from
the stink of blood,
of death.
Men scurry beneath me and this tree,
running hither and fro,
like ants busy at work,
but their work is the work
of nightmares.
Men in battle leathers and armor,
running hither and fro,
swords and shields raise,
and they run at each other,
hacking and slicing
thrusting this way and that.
I watch the warring unfold,
my stomach clenched and
biting, yet i cannot look
away.
Nor can my friend,
my guardian,
the rowan tree.

Nikki Orwell wrote:I read the first one. I think I liked the idea, but not the protagonist, or something like that. I know I read Tithe.