Write about: defiance.
Back home in Osoyoos, safe and sound. Max slept for almost the entire drive from Dawson Creek to Fort St. John, and the majority of the flight from Vancouver to Penticton. The flight to Vancouver was mostly good, but unfortunately we had to wake him up to get him off the plane in Penticton.
He complained about that for most of the drive home.
Thankfully he was happy to see all his toys again, even if he was calling for Dati (Natalie) while he rediscovered them.
Regardless, I am happy to be here again. Despite being quite ready to fall flat on my face and snore the next however many hours away.
It is true. Our enemies hold the high ground. They outnumber us. Without question, they believe the battle that will begin in the coming hours will end for them in glorious victory.
They are wrong. Their memories have failed them. They do not recall who waits to parry their swords, dodge their arrows, split their skulls. They have forgotten who we are.
We are warriors. Our brothers and sisters are warriors. Our fathers and mothers are warriors. Our family trees have roots which dig deep into the earth, eager for the furnace of the Earth's core. Their tips do not burn, do not blacken, do not die.
They are shaped and hardened, like swords in a forge at the hands of expert bladesmiths. Those roots drink deeply from the wells of violence that have formed during the long, bloody history of this planet. They infuse our bloodline with the iron will of warriors.
We do not care about odds. When we go to war we do not accept defeat as an option. We are warriors. We will grasp victory by the throat, refusing to loosen our grip until it belongs to us, body and soul. Our enemies will be vanquished, high ground and superior numbers be damned.
There is no other ending to be written to our story.