She knew it by the creak of the leather as her gloved hand wrapped around the hilt. The blade, only slightly longer than that of a dagger, reflected the small bit of moonlight still present in the resting sky.
Her body ached. She has no idea how long sleep had taken hold of her, but it felt as if it had only grazed the surface of her fatigue. As she pushed up off of the ground with her free palm, the various muscles in her arms and thighs screamed at her. Blood pumped visciously throughout her skull, pulsing to the rhythm of her heart as it beat against her chest in an effort to awaken.
Nora sighed. The bangs of her half blonde hair did their best to blanket her eyes from what light the night yet held. She brushed them away, appreciative of their efforts, unwanted as they were. Her mind felt sharp yet slow. It was the sort of wakefulness one feels before a dawn set on delivering conflict. It would have been nice to rise with the warmth of the sun, but the briskness of the colorless breeze swirling about her figure suited her mood far better.
She needed to spill blood this day. It was more fitting for the mind to unfold into the darkness it would soon reflect.
A single bird began its song.
“Bit early, isn’t it,” she mused quietly. But she was only stalling.
It was time.