It is such a disconcerting thing, to wake up not knowing who you are or where you've been. But such was the case this afternoon as the young woman awoke. Whatever was she wearing armor for? And this crudely fashioned sword at her him gave her little more comfort.
Drawing it slowly, she sliced delicately through the air and found- to her surprise- that while her mind may be saying she was unfamiliar with the situation, her body seemed to know exactly what it was doing. Hearing a noise behind her, she spun round. Bringing a fist up for defense, she lunged toward the noise with her sword-arm as a man only barely avoided being run through.
"Steady now, m'lady," the man said. His voice was calm. Soothing. And altogether nonplussed at having been the target of a near disembowelment. Instead, he bowed low and spoke again.
"My Lady Morningstar, I see that you have awakened with vigor. Perhaps today is the day?"
Wholly off-guard and not actually entirely awake, the woman lowered her weapon slowly and replied, "I know not of whom you speak, what you speak, who you are, or if we're both being completely honest, who I am."
His head dropped slightly. "Ah. It is to be this again. Well, m'lady, I am Mikil, your ever faithful lieutenant and friend. And you are the Lady Morningstar. I fear you have been suffering from a nasty bit of amnesia. Every couple of weeks, it reverts to this condition once more and we lose all progress we had made, including new memories you might have made in the interim." He paused, watching her face closely. "But come, it is nearly dinner time."
The man, Mikil, turned and walk back down the hill toward a small cluster of tents. Amnesia.
And here she was hoping for a more original explanation as to why she seemed to have forgotten everything. Including her first name. Surely it wasn't "Lady".
*****
With a deep breath, the young woman steps into the camp. She is very aware of all the eyes following her every move. They quickly avert elsewhere when she attempts to make eye contact with anyone, and the glances turn to whispers as she passes.
She reaches a particular tent where Mikil has stopped. It is no larger than the others, though slightly more decorative. Painted on the door is an unusual looking crest and as it catches her eye, she realizes it's been a recurring image throughout the camp.
Pausing, she asks, "Whose crest does this bear? And what does it symbolize?"
Mikil breathes before responding. "M'lady selected this after a peculiar dream some months back. It is... fitting."
Without another word, the lieutenant walks into the tent, letting the flap fall back down to leave the single broken silver wing on a deep purple field staring at her.
