Draft - Ghelatlishol (Maybe diff title)

Pronunciation Guide:

Ghelatlishol (Hey-Lot-Lee-Show-ull)
Ghelatli (Hey-Lot-Lee)
Makri (Mock-Ree)
Yakne (Yahk-Nay)

Chapter 1

         Makri could hear his heart beating furiously through his chest underneath all his armor. No matter how many times he had been part of a raid, it never seemed to get any easier. And now that he was leading them, the prospect of failure loomed larger than ever in his mind.
         Concentrate, my guy. We’ve been through this so many times.
         Raids felt different as a leader. As a new recruit it was frightening for sure, but the rush of facing the enemy with nothing to lose, feeling a part of something bigger and grander than yourself, and the satisfaction of knowing your efforts meant that your people would eat, drink, and survive to see another day made the task easier. But when he had five people counting on him calling the right shots, and their lives were quite definitively in his hands, he could hardly bear it. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that his five scouts had bombs strapped to their chests, and he held the detonator key.
         They knew their mission: infiltrate the storehouse and obtain whatever supplies you can get, be they food, water, medicinal supplies, and most importantly, weapons. If the enemy spots you, fight back with all your strength. If they catch you…

         Makri was very much against this kind of strategic raid. It never sat well with him after seeing one of his comrades blown to bits before his eyes. He’d been on a supply raid with three other guys he’d come to know well, and all was going just fine until one of them ran into an operations room they all thought had been unoccupied. Yakne knew what he had to do.
         “For the Ghelatli!!!”
         An explosion soon followed which collapsed the structure of the west wing of the storehouse, burying the five guardsmen in the room where Yakne had been standing. He’d said his final words, and Makri heard them resounding through the building. The explosion had knocked him to the ground, injuring his leg as a hard piece of rock flew towards him and pierced him like shrapnel. He tried so hard to hold back tears, and he wasn’t able to tell what was hurting him more; his leg, which if unattended to would surely be useless within a matter of minutes, or the fact that the only friend he had made since joining the scouts was already gone. He looked timidly at the wound. Thankfully, the bone hadn’t been shattered, but the ligaments were torn. He’d be down for a while. The other two scouts managed to find him and help him back to the rendezvous point, and his leg was quickly attended to, but ever since then, it never felt quite the same. For his bravery, he’d been given the role of scout leader. But Makri knew that it wasn’t his bravery, but rather the dwindling number of scouts that led to his promotion.