We can still feel the wind from the slash of her sword and the earth still quakes from her battles for she was a furious warrior that bowed to none. She stared into the eyes of her enemy with not fear but determination. She lived for as long as the world stood and her voice became the thunder that roared over the hills. When the people feared her strength, they cursed her to lose blood in the hopes that she would falter, that her knees would fall weak from the pain in her gut, and that she would fall so ill that she would not be able to lift her sword. Instead, her eyes became fires that fueled her as she would lift her sword, even as she bled for seven days’ time.
It would come again. The same time, each month following another, she bled until the day came that she fell pregnant. She did not bleed for nine months’ time, and the people cheered and thought that she would perish under the pain. But instead she screamed and through sweat and blood, she lived.
Through her, we learned to draw our strength through our pain, and through those that curse us – to hold our heads high with our swords.
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