Queen of the Land

Genre: Western

Plot: A matriarch leads a revolution against invaders

Words to use:woman, queen, princess, witch, angel, enemy, plot, mother, crest, tribe, family, lineage, birth, rule, strategy

The sun shone brightly against the yellow ochre of the dried grass of the field. The middle of the dry season. A time to plan and prepare for the next year. A woman sits under a tree, hiding from the rays of the sun, a piece of grass between her lips, looking out toward the horizon. She has her rifle in her arms, the butt on her thigh, watching between the slits of her piercing eyes. Like an angel waiting to heed the spiritual call. 

A figure on a horse appears off in the distance causes the woman to rise from her position under the tree. She whistles in a patterned tone. Could this be a friend or an enemy? She wondered as it grew closer.

When it was not far off, it became apparent that it was someone who she recognized. She ran up to the figure, grabbing the reigns of the horse. The figure is slumped over, barely breathing.  Dark blood stained the sleeve of her shirt. The ever faithful horse brought her home safely. 

The distinctive whistle called a crowd of women, all with their own rifles, to assist. They took their sister off the horse, carrying her off toward the town, the horse they brought to the stables to care for the beast who bore its burden safely home.

The woman was brought to a home to rest and tended too by other women, all of a medical lineage. Their rule was to care for each other even into death. The strategy of their founding mother. The great princess of the earth. 

The woman opened her eyes with much effort, whispered softly, “my pocket”. Her hand finding its way to the side of her trousers to a pocket that held a sheet of linen paper with a crest pressed into wax that fixed it shut. She faded gently to sleep, her wound wrapped in herbs.

The letter was brought quickly to the matriarch, a honored queen of this tribe. She sat upon a magical throne of flowers, the scent filling the air of the vaulted ceiling of the throne room, surrounded by her guardians and the princesses.

“Dear witch…” it began, the face of the queen filled with anger. A plotto destroy their family, peace and end her rule. 

“Heathens!!” She yelled at the top of her voice, the sound echoing through the grand space of stone. The only stone building in the town. “We must prepare.” She continued to yell, orders for all to gather all their weapons. “They will not destroy what my ancestors brought to birth many years ago. I will not allow it, even to my last breath.”

All her magic started to glow and rise from the throne, twirling and shaking the ground, gathering its strength from the state of slumber. Its enlivened everything, human to horse in the coming battle to rob them of their peace.  The queen made promises to all those gathering around her. This would not come to pass. The end of her rule would never rule, she promised all of those gathering the magic for themselves. A suit of armor of flowers, that gave them the strength to fight. A feminine light lit within, so bright against the darkness off in the horizon that looked like a dust cloud coming closer. Their bullets would find their way to the enemy with accuracy and precision. 

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