The war prophecy

Pins and twine press my hair
into delicate curves and braids,
knots and locks of beauty.
Fine paints pattern my brow,
blooming liquids flow along my cheek.
Markings of my people.
Soft, faintly-colored cloth
falls from my shoulders.
A cloak of vengeance.
I step into the light,
trailed by my followers.
Handed bow and flaming arrow.
The defining shot flies high among the clouds.
A plume of flame in the sky.
Cries fill my ears.
This means war!
I embody all of our
tradition, strength, and passion.
I am the prophecy.

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