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The trumpets sounded,

their sharp noise echoed through my head.

Horses galloped, my men charged.
Swords raised,

a grim expression fixed on their face.

A single arrow,

whistling and twirling through the air,

landed with a soft thud straight through his heart.

The first kill.

The battle had begun.

I was dressed no differently to anybody else,

but I was still frowned upon,

scorned upon.

My armour glinted in the morning sun

and it was with determination,

a horrible yet confident type of determination

that I spurred my horse forward

out into the midst of battle. 

Joan of Arc


By Millie

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