The Poet Warrior Youth Novels & Stories

She would fight until her last breath, and never give up hope. As the rogue wolves led her deeper into the forest, Althea braced herself for the unknown. She was a nobody, a forgotten warrior, but she refused to let them break her spirit. She would fight until the bitter end, and never give up the hope of freedom.

I couldn't be more uncertain. "Is it so hard to believe that I'm the real one?" It feels incredibly absurd to ask such a question, but all this suspicion is draining me of energy and hope. He sighs deeply, and it's only now that I notice the crease between his eyebrows from frowning too much. It isn't easy to be a warrior, to spend your life in the shadows fighting, protecting a pack from all types of threats. He walks around as if he is bearing the world on his shoulders, he probably is.

I was still fuming but at the same time felt very pleased with myself. Fuck Byron with a rusty rake. That elder could rot in hell for all I cared. What an absolute piece of shit. The way the warriors were patting me on the back and muttering words of encouragement had me feeling like a million bucks. They supported me. They had my back. Fuck what that elder thought. The asshole acted like I couldn’t wait to send thousands into battle. Like I was just chomping at the bits to fight against rogues and put peoples lives in danger. What a load of fucking shit.

River's fingers trailed the spine of the next book, its leather cover worn smooth by countless readings. "The Lame Warrior's Triumph," she whispered, opening the pages to reveal the tale of Kaid. Thane's eyes sparkled with curiosity as River began to read: "Kaid, a warrior injured in battle, was deemed unfit for later battles. Yet, he refused to accept fate's dictate. Instead, he honed his mind, sharpening his wit and strategic thinking." As River spoke, Thane's imagination conjured Kaid's determined face, his eyes burning with a fire that would not be extinguished.

“I did not imagine you would read poetry.” “What did you think I would be reading?” he asked me, haughtily. “I don’t know. Spell books, I guess.” His lips quirked, as if he were not sure whether to grimace, or laugh. “I am not a mage.” “What are the poems about?” I returned to my task. “The Paragon of Theodghar is set during a fabled war and tells of the battles and events during its last weeks. Its themes include fate, the glory of heroic battle, homecomings, rage and the downfall of pride.”

ùùù The nightmare Warrior's Compound wasn't always something I considered home. Growing up in the MC, only to have your fate be determined by those surrounding the same club, was more of a premonition than a dream. I fought my father until I was blue in the face about where I saw myself. I was fifteen when he died, and one of the last things I ever said to him was that I hated this club. At the time it was true, I hated what the club took from me every time he had to go in for club business and would leave me with my mom. I hated everything the club stood for when it came to women and family. I especially hated the danger, and what it could steal from me. It wasn't long after my father's dea

This amused me. I pushed him away lightly; he seemed taken aback by this and stood gaping at me. I lay on the bed and rested my head on my hand, savoring the flustered look on his face. "Go back to where you came from, kiddo. Tell your boss that I don't fool around with minors," I said. I stretched out on the bed, crossing my long legs together. My thin skirt barely covered me. He seemed to panic when he heard me. He hurried over but couldn't bring himself to meet my gaze. "I'm of age, angel! I don't have a boss, either. I volunteered for this—I just wanted to be by your side."

"Long ago, and miles away, there was a young princess, orphaned in a time of war. She was called upon to lead the armies of her kingdom, for there was no other. She was the fiercest of warriors, beloved of her people, unstoppable on the field. She rode out day after day and saved her subjects in battle after battle. But every night, when the fighting was done, she was alone. Until one day, a peasant boy came looking to join her army. Lonely and angry and fierce as she. For the first time, she found that when she strode out onto the field to save others, there was someone at her side...who had come to save her." Chapter 1 RPOV Song: Past Lives by BORNS, That Sea The Gambler by Gregory Alan Is

He collapsed with a wet gurgle, his eyes wide with a shock that would forever be frozen on his face. They underestimated me. They saw an old man, a cripple, a relic from a bygone era. They saw the missing arm and the grey in my hair and thought I was easy prey. They were wrong. I was a living relic of war, a creature forged in the crucible of a hundred battles, a Spartan of the old school, and I had been killing men like these since before they were born. A House Ares warrior, a young man with a face full of arrogant confidence, charged me, his sword a clumsy, overeager slash. I didn't even bother to parry. I sidestepped, my movements fluid and economical, and let his momentum carry him past

What he felt was fierce and protective and slightly terrifying, the devotion of a warrior who had chosen his cause and would die defending it. "I do not have words," he said, and his voice carried the rough edge of someone who had learned to communicate through action rather than speech. "I do not have poetry. I do not have the pretty phrases that nobles use to mask their calculations. But I have stood beside you in darkness that I did not understand. I have followed you into battles that were not mine. I have chosen you, again and again, without knowing what that choice meant." He knelt, the gesture awkward, unpracticed, genuine in its discomfort. His knee hit the crystal floor with a sound