The Poet Warrior Youth Novels & Stories

"The youth only granted my vanguard a single, freezing glance during the entire encounter, so my tongue lacked the opening to demand his marker. Besides, my fiancée was standing in the blood-pool; it would violate court etiquette." The sharp, vivid image of my silver eyes instantly flooded David Duskbane’s mind. So, the wildland stray projects the exact same icy indifference toward the Baker champion as he does toward my own vanguard, he calculated. For some inexplicable reason, the oppressive knot in the Warlord’s chest loosened, and his mood shifted. Instead of retreating to his shadowcraft, David reached down, taking a slow, satisfied sip of the dark mountain brew. "Oh?" Carter’s eyes dan

LAUREN'S POV “Fine, Lauren, you win!” The teen warrior who was older than me cried, “Seriously, why are you so strong? You are only 7!” “No. You are too weak. A good warrior in my father’s pack should be as strong as I am.” I knew what I said was not exactly true. He was full of potential and expected to be the strongest warrior in the future. It was a serious battle which is normal among wolves. “Another victory isn’t it, my little cupcake? Congratulations!”

At the center of the main courtyard, a simple, unadorned pool of crystal-clear mountain water reflected the shifting colors of the sky. A young warrior named Valen sat cross-legged at the edge of the pool. His heavy starmetal broadsword lay flat on the stone beside him, and his hands were clenched tightly into fists resting on his knees. His shoulders were tense, his breathing ragged, the phantom weight of a recent failure pressing heavily against his chest. "You are fighting a battle that isn't here, young guardian," a soft, weathered voice noted.

I felt my eyelids lower slightly. And the instant he did, he abruptly stopped talking. The unfinished words disappeared from his lips as though he suddenly realized what he had just said. That place was where society threw away the unwanted. The weak. The injured. The powerless. People who no longer had value to the pack were sent there and forgotten like they were nothing more than burdens waiting to die. Children who lost their parents. Old people abandoned by their own families. The Warriors are too wounded to fight anymore. Women and orphans left to survive on scraps.

His words were sharp, cutting her deep. "All I see is an impulsive, foolish, wolfless young girl trying to act tough—a reckless attitude that will get you killed," the broody warrior growled. "One day, you’ll realize I’m doing you a favor. A favor of not dying young." His words contin to crush her. The broody warrior declared, "Under no circumstances should you defy me, young one. I’m not merciful." His footsteps echoed as he left, leaving her standing there with clenched fists, her knuckles turning white.

They made their way toward the arena, where the victorious warriors stood, their exhaustion masked by the pride and joy of their achievements. Leori approached the champion, a warrior adorned with the laurel wreath of triumph. "You have proven yourself to be a formidable warrior and a beacon of your kingdom's strength," Leori commended, his voice resonating with admiration. "May this victory be a stepping stone toward a future of prosperity and unity."

It would become Black Sparrow Hawk’s ~~ Coda ~~ “I fought hard,” he professed before his captors. “But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air . . . my warriors fell around me.” His discourse shifted to admonishment. “You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it.” He went on to tell of a campaign of greed and broken trust, murder, and of those who had perpetuated it. He summed them up aptly: “The white men do not scalp the head. But they do worse—they poison the heart.” With the sun setting on him, the old warrior said his goodbyes.

The weight of his blood on my hands. The way the warriors looked at me afterward — waiting. Waiting to see if I would bend. I never did. I don’t get to bend now. I straighten slowly, even though my chest still feels too tight. Below, the torches flicker. Beyond them — the border. Dark forest. Silent. Waiting. My border. My responsibility. I focus on it until the world narrows. No breaches. No invaders. Children sleeping safely tonight. Warriors patrolling land that still belongs to us.

I stumbled backwards at this, my paws scrambling for traction at the blood soaked earth. Who thought his new ways of fighting, and how accurate he was!! The young warrior pressed his advantage against me, his eyes blazing with the fire of fight and victory. His hot breath could I feel time and again on my face, and his claws were just mere inches away from my throat. Raising my paws against him with the last pound of strength left in me, I struck blindly at him, blindly because my vision were partially obscured by my own blood and the darkness that had enveloped us.

A man's scream echoed roughly in a flash. Marcus witnessed two werewolves dragging a male soldier. He appears to be a member of the WW Force based on his clothing. The man struggled, even more, when he was forced to kneel in front of Althaia, who was now staring at him emotionlessly. Althaia grinned horrifyingly. "Any final words?" Marcus overheard Althaia ask the poor man. Instead of pleading for his life, the man insulted Althaia's ferocity. "All right, make the most of your petty lives now, because your race will be extinct in this world soon!"