I apply war paint to Aly’s face, my careful fingers moving in patterns to break up her form, to make her blend into the dark black of the night. Across from me Alai and Kona are practicing their forms, spears flying around deftly in their hands. The tension is tangible in the air. I’m terrified. We’re all terrified.

“We’ll send those Calon invaders back in pieces.” Yoma’s voice is dark and determined and as hard as an iron sword.

“We have to,” Ami replies, something defeated in their tone, something deeply concerned.

“We will,” Heman tells them, tells us all. “We have to.”

“Not to mention,” Joni starts, “we have the forest on our side. The forest fights with us. The lands fight alongside us.”

“And the nighttime all around us. And the darkness. And the sky.” Yoma’s words are awed, are confident. I look up to see the stars all around us, the stars that we emulate in our war paint, since there are no clouds this night. I look up to see the faint sliver of the new moon, a crack of light from the heavens.

“We have to fight. For our people. For our forest. For our freedom. This ambush has to go well.” My words are tinged with adoration.

“If Mosa’s plan goes well,” Cali begins, “then we should have the invaders out of our lands before the end of the summer. If the plan goes well. It has to go well.”

“It will go well,” Aly reassures, “as long as we fight with all that we have. We have to fight with all that we have.”

“And we have to be ready to die,” Johan adds. “We love our people. We love our children. We love all our descendants who will come after us, who will deserve to live free, and we have to be ready to sacrifice anything and everything for them.”

“But we have to be ready to kill as well,” Lysa pipes up, voice like a sharp sword glinting in the sunlight.

“We will,” I proclaim. “We’ll make them pay for every tree that they cut down, every child that they stole, every bit that they extorted from us.”

There is cheering all around me, quiet in the nighttime. We keep ourselves hushed, so that the Calons don’t hear us, although the travelling army is yet rather far away.

“They will pay,” Aly declares. There is yet more cheering as we apply our war paint. At this point I can barely see any of my friends. They blend so perfectly into the shadows, as if they are the night itself. The Calon soldiers will never see us coming. They might have their armour, their shields, their perfectly-practiced formations. But we have the night and we have the forest.

“We need to pray to the moon now,” Yoma’s states, “it’s time for war.”

We all gather together and whisper the hushed words of the warrior’s prayer. For it is important that we give our respect to the moon. For the moon takes all the dead. It takes them up to its bright lands, so that our spirits may shine across the sky each night, watching over our descendants and giving hope to the people.

We are warriors. We will die. We are expected to die. And we have to pay our respects to the place who will welcome us when we die, and to the ancestors across generations and generations who will welcome us as well, who watch over us now, who will watch over us as we battle, ensuring that we can kill as many of the enemies as we can, and that we do not suffer more losses than we have to.

“Holder of the ancestors,” we speak, “please accept our sacrifice of our lives for our descendants. Please welcome us when we become ancestors, so that we may watch over our descendants. Please guard our battles and guide our hands, and thank you for guarding us and guiding us for all of these infinite years. Thank you for sheltering and protecting our souls when we come to you for our final rest.”

“Ancestors,” we continue, “thank you for all your efforts and your sacrifices to make our lives better. Thank you for all that you did in the past in order to safeguard our present. And thank you for all you continue to do to safeguard the future. Thank you for guarding us with your spirits and thank you for watching over us every night from your place of eternal peace. May we honour you with our sacrifice, and may we fight with all of your strength. May we pass into your realm with grace and with bravery.”

We walk through the shadowed forest, lit by the faint sliver of the silver moon. Though the forest is dark, we still know it like the back of our hands. This is the forest that we grew up in. This is the forest that we spent our whole lives in. This is the forest that our ancestors spent their whole lives in, and their ancestors before that, and their ancestors before that, all the way throughout eternity. Of course we know it in the dark.

And thank the gods that the Calon soldiers do not know it, not in the light and especially not in the dark.

We find the small forest trail that Mosa will take the army of Calon soldiers through. It is a small path, but it is the largest path through the forest. The soldiers in all of their bulky metal and leather armour will not be able to walk in a formation through it. They will have to walk two by two. And everyone knows that without their formation, the soldiers are not as powerful. They’ll be the perfect targets for our strike.

We find bushes and shrubs to crouch down under, so that we are completely not visible to the people who will be on the path, not visible at all. This is very easy, as many shrubs and large bushes spot the underbrush of the forest. I look around and I cannot see any of my comrade warriors. But I know that they are there, hiding. I can sense their presence in my heart.

I keep alert, watching for the imperialists.