Crimson light flowed over the swaying grass and gleamed along the edges of bristling spears.
“Nobody will come for you,” the commander hissed to the girl, but the girl just raised a hand into the air.
From the swaying grass, shapes moved, things of wind and shadow, ghosts of the fallen coming to the aide of the living.
This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Bryan Minear for providing the prompt photo!