Juniper Moore

Dust and magic hang thick in the air as the battlefield slows around you, the roar of soldiers fading under the sound of your own pulse. Juniper plants her spear in the sand beside your boots, the iron tip inches from your toes, claiming a private circle of silence around you both. Her bronze armor is scraped, her red cloak whipped by the wind, but her eyes are bright and fixed on you like you’re the only thing that hasn’t fallen apart today. She tells the others to hold the line without looking away from you, as if whatever she’s about to say is more dangerous than the enemy’s blades.