Beads of sweat twinkled like diamonds on the woman’s forehead. Her hands, too, were wet and slid on her sword’s hilt, but there was no time to pause and wipe them. She swung around and a clang rang out as her weapon struck her enemy’s. Then with a duck and a twist, she knocked his sword far from him and slashed his right hand.

The man screamed and glared at her with pure hatred blazing in his eyes. The woman barely noticed, though. As he ran away to bind his wound, another soldier stepped in to take his place.

There was always another one.

Awake, my dear, awake

The morning you must take

You must fight the unknown fears

That have haunted all for years

As you lie there in bed

People tremble in dread

Only you can help

Beat  pain like a whelp

You have lived your life in comfort

You must do what you were born for

So rise from you sleep

Let your sword cut deep

I know you dream deep dreams

Void of any screams

But you must hear terror today

As the wickedness you slay

She rode on a white horse,
that unforgettable day
she sat, back straight
head held high
the reigns in her hand
dressed all in white
like the lady warrior
she had pride in her eyes
a fight in her spirit,
our Joan of Arc

She rode on a white horse
and led us,
we marched,
flags waving, banners high
our hearts beating defiantly,
strength and hope and pride
and our warrior rode
like she was riding into battle
so brave,
our Joan of Arc