Battleground

The birds that glided above in the brilliantly blue sky looked down to the ground below, waiting patiently for the feast to be served. One bird turned on a wing tip and dropped into a well-controlled dive to land with a flurry of heavy, blue-black feathers onto a branch near the battle. There it sat and watched, with its beady, raven eyes.

With a loud war cry, the warrior company brandished their weapons and rushed into the melee. Horses reared, kicked and bit. Sharp weapons glinted in the sunlight.
In the middle of the fray, two young fighters were on horses, parrying and slashing together against their foes, each covering the other with an eerie accuracy. On a closer look, one could see that the smaller warrior was a female, the mate of the slightly larger male with whom she fought. Her mount, an amber Western Hunter, was well battle trained, doing its share of damage in the close fighting, while the rider's movements flowed as if she and the horse were one.
A laugh bubbled out of her mate's mouth, and she glanced at him. A maniac's laugh, crazy and dangerous at the same time. She saw him grin insanely as he stabbed at a man where the arm joined the body; watched in snatches as he laughed into the doomed man's face. She felt the berserker laughter rising in her own throat, welling up, and breaking out. Red tinged the edge of her sight. The men around her hesitated for a second, giving her a chance to stab one of their horses in the chest. The horse reared and screamed, and her own mount flicked its ears and screamed its own challenge back. The enemies around her attacked ferociously as her laughter grew louder and turned into a screech. Her movements betrayed that she had only been trained recently, but her skills were more than adequate. She felt her mate swinging and parrying beside her, his voice rising to a banshee shriek, while adrenaline pumped through their sweaty, blood-covered bodies.
The man in front screamed as her sword thrust forward, breaking the links in his chain mail to pierce his chest. She twisted her sword, destroying the man's innards, and listened as he screamed until the blood bubbled out of his mouth, watching pure agony on his face as his vocal chords failed. She drew her sword out, slick with his thick, bright blood, and laughed as she turned to parry another strike, the dead man already forgotten as he fell. Her mate howled as he slashed into a man's side, the corpse falling off the horse and disappearing under the thrashing hooves.

With unnatural strength, the pair drove the enemy back, gutting them through their mail. Around them, the other warriors of their band fought viciously. In moments, the skirmish was over. The dust floated heavily in the air, carrying with it droplets of blood vapour. The two blonde, young warriors sat astride their horses, watching the wounded cautiously. Their Caradoc rode over slowly. Seeing the berserker still in their eyes, he asked, "Do you know me?"
"Yes," the female answered. "You may approach," added her mate. Cautiously, the Caradoc rode closer. "Good work, Silver Daggers. We're camping here tonight."
The two nodded as he rode off, the berserker fit leaving them a few minutes later.

As the wounded were carried away, the raven descended from its perch and devoured a severed gobbet of bloody flesh that was lying on the ground, before tearing chunks out of the dead bodies on the deserted battlefield.

Back at camp, she clung to her mate, sobbing. He held her, murmuring, into one of her small, delicate ears, that he understood. If they'd had the time, he would have taught her what it meant to be a berserker, and to own a Silver Dagger. He regretted causing her such a shock, but a Silver Dagger's life was one filled with blood and unexpected circumstances; he'd learnt that lesson long ago. Today had been her turn to learn, and she had done well; her first kills were made cleanly and without hesitation.