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She sat in the sturdy arms of a tree once more. Her favorite hiding spot wasn't very high up, but she liked the idea of being hidden by the leaves, dappled with occasional sunlight. As the Sun cupped her grimy, dust-encased face and soothed her sore muscles which it had beat so furiously upon earlier, she carved a section of bark from the tree's trunk.
Underneath, the texture was smooth like her mother's singing and her glittering memories of sleeping in until the late afternoon. Some of her ratty, tangled hair fell across her knee as she leaned against the cold smoothness and breathed a sigh of relief. Since this stupid war had begun, she hadn't been very into it. She and every other kid on this gods-forsaken land had lost everyone and everything to the 'divine' chess game those dragons out there played with human lives. And now here they were, dragging her and every other orphan in to replace their parents. They were fewer and more inexperienced than their predecessors, but sometimes she'd see Lucina or Morgan -- whose parents had died before anyone else important -- and they would be talking to someone who wasn't really there.
The divine dragon sought Lucina while her brother latched on to Morgan. It was plain to see. All anyone had to do was be painfully loyal and admire their every action to spot the slip-ups. With Luci, Severa was both the less fortunate sister-of-another-lineage and the yanking, snarling dog kept on a chain leash for the safety of others. She would talk down to Lucina in a casual tone, if only to spite the memory of her perfect mother, and speak her mind freely so there wasn't even a spark of doubt when it came to her honesty. At the same time, anyone who spoke badly of Lucina could expect a thorough thrashing by Severa's silver-strong tongue, whether or not they were a close friend. Lucina had been through more than what most of them had. She was forced to be the first in everything and Severa knew all too well how real the pressure was. She knew how it broke her down and how before either her or Lucina or anyone else, it had broken the king, who could barely stand to move his army to safety after his sister's fall. It had broken the tactician, who disappeared alongside the king and hadn't a shred of memory to pass to her son. It had broken Cordelia, who she'd watch shrug out of her armor, tired and dead-eyed, until she no longer removed her armor, until she too stopped returning home.
She blew a dead bug out of her bangs, fixing them roughly into place. The flying dirt stung violently at her eyelids, so she closed her eyes for a moment.
Morgan was a different matter. He was less ashamed of his selection. The fell dragon walked in every step he took and added power to every breath he took. He wasn't as connected to everyone as everyone else was since he hadn't grown up around them, and though he was surely younger, he hid a wealth of intelligence to compete with even Laurent's massive library of a brain. He was happy, or so he'd say, but he broke more often than anyone. It was no common feat to take the mantle of tactician at three quarters of the age his mother had. He was up every night meticulously drawing plans and preventing deaths. During those times, he'd grow weak to outside influences and seek refuge in the silencing woods by their camps, the placement of which was yet another result of his genius. There were mornings where the entire group would take up arms in search for him, most in fear that he had finally finally traded sides. On these days, she would always find him first, even before the fliers, because he always napped in the sunniest spots possible. Gods, for someone with the best, most reliable head in the army, he could be an idiot sometimes. She'd pick him up off his feet and he'd crack a smile, saying something about how nice and bright the sun was or how good the flowers smelled when you breathed all the way in even if he'd sneeze the rest of the day. Then she would become much more aware of how blazingly hot the sun was and all the peeling skin on his arms and how he always managed to uncoil her tension.
As her back cooled and her clothes stuck to her body uncomfortably, she took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose for a few long seconds to draw in the scent of lilacs, then shooting the air back out of her dry windpipe and ripped lips. When her eyes opened, the world was darker, but the heat and dust lingered. No one had followed her and she was still alone. At least until morning, the war was on hold.