The Poet Warrior Youth Novels & Stories

She didn't understand why this guy was being so disrespectful. She stopped again by Catherine. "I was examining him to see if he have the capability to be a warrior or not. A warrior is not that one who can just play well with swords. A warrior's blood should be always protesting for the right thing, for the right words. He should have enough brave to say the right things. My father in law chose the right for the first time. Let's go." She explained to Yeji. She felt thankful toward Wonhae for selecting a worthy warrior like him.Thanks for this best chance. A chance that I never imagined before.

Erriene said in that soft but firm voice of his that always made Alarick’s crotch give a twitch. Kill him, a mocking voice said in his head, He disrespected you. He took the sword and dragged his finger on the carvings. It was Maudinian. ‘Dir ylemi er zi nie rata cogadh anns treubh.’ (There is no war in the tribe.) A quote from a frost giant’s legend, about a great frost giant warlord and his weaknesses, his people, his family and his enemies. There was one special sword for each one of them.

Kate's P.O.V. As I pressed my hand on that warrior’s skin, darkness swallowed me whole. The cold hospital room vanished, replaced by a battlefield drenched in blood. The injured warrior staggered across the ruined courtyard, every breath sounding like broken glass scraping his lungs. His wolf growled fiercely as three rogues surrounded him, attacking at once. Despite his injuries, the warrior refused to retreat. He fought like a man protecting something far more valuable than his own life. Claws collided, and growls shook the air as he managed to throw one rogue into a wall before another ripped across his shoulder.

He was taller than Elaina and glared down at her as if she was a disobedient child. “What?” Elaina demanded feeling slightly self-conscious. “Shouldn’t you be at home sleeping where it is safe for children?” The man asked now crossing his arms. “I’m not a child.” Elaina said through gritted teeth. “You’re what sixteen, seventeen maybe?” The man continued to push causing Elaina’s temper to reach its boiling point. “I’m twenty two.” Elaina snapped, “Legal age of a warrior of the brethren.” This caught the man off guard; he stared at Elaina in a new way as if noticing her for the first time.

Where its waters ran red from the blood, now churned and raged as a deathly torrent; heavy in iron and decay, playing an eternal macabre symphony inside my head. I remember, as distinctly as if it happened yesterday, how the young warrior-no more than twenty years of age- laid beside me, his scared yet valiant face locked eyes with mine as he took his final breath. His memory clung about me. He had died entreating his last solicitation, hoping against hope—a cry for something that he could never have now. I found myself on my knees by him, murmuring under my breath some prayer to the old gods that his soul be at peace, happy in whatever afterworld there might be.

Thankfully, bodies had been removed, as the warriors that were with us from the Midnight Forest Pack, now all bandaged up, told us there had been a fair few of Crimson Night Pack Warriors on the floor, bloodied and injured, some even dead. I don’t even want to think about that. That is one element to my family being warriors I hate. The fact that a big part of that is the fighting, and the killing it can involve. And the way they seem to be so free in forgetting about it, and letting it go like it is literally nothing. Like it is part of their day job, which I guess it is really. But it just doesn’t sit right with me and puts me on edge. Yet most of the men in my family are warriors; my Dad,

And then he rapped: “Hey dad, it’s me, Um, I'm Tyler. I think I’d be your son. Sorry, I called you the wrong name See my brain’s splitting. Dad isn’t your name, see, faggot’s a little more fitting. My mother raised me as a single parent, so it’s apparent. That I got love for my mother none of you other fuckers.” Rose froze. Her heart clenched in shock and Pride. “Who taught you how to rap like that?” she asked, stunned.

Cassian continued, "Yet, you have written those words with force and might, evoking a sense of dominance and aggression which is entirely opposite from the poet's state of mind. That being said, it also seems filled with a formidable spirit of a predator ready to pounce. "It reminds me of another poem by a different poet. Though the horse rests in his stable, he dreams of galloping a thousand miles once more. Though the warrior has reached his twilight years, his heroic passion lives on." Thiago stared intently at Thiago with his dark, unreadable eyes. Though he said nothing, he continued to give off the same imposing air. Cassian was so nervous that he broke out in a cold sweat. After two w

I had not used it on a living person. I had been mildly hoping to use it on a living person this morning. The training yard was empty. Sixty feet of packed dirt. Wooden practice posts. Two lanterns hanging from iron hooks at the corners. I had been walking the perimeter eleven minutes when the second warrior came in. He was younger. Twenty-five. He had not been told the new omega was not to be coddled, because the first warrior had not had time to tell him. He had been told only that she was in the training yard and was not supposed to be.

She was a figure of ethereal beauty, her luminous silver hair cascading like moonlight, and her eyes shimmering with the wisdom of the ages. Among the mortals, there lived a valiant young warrior named Lykos. He hailed from a peaceful tribe nestled in a verdant valley, far away from the chaos and bloodshed that plagued the lands beyond. Lykos was renowned for his strength and courage, but his heart was burdened by the impending storm of war that loomed over his people.