Hers was transparent.
Some called it a worthless piece of armor that would fail to protect her when the fighting started.
Made of glass, it was given to her by her mother.
A shield handed down by generations of women before her who had gone into battle.
It gave them away every time.
Exposing their every move.
Revealing every flinch – more a window than a shield.
Leaving them completely vulnerable.
So, how had it survived the generations?
How had something perceived as a weakness manage to last?
Unlike the solid shields, made heavy with the purpose of withstanding a blow, hers was lightweight.
It allowed her the freedom to maneuver with precision.
It was blinding in its glare.
It also gave her the opportunity of perspective – the clarity of scope.
While the others peaked out from behind armor that was supposed to protect them, she stood out in the line of soldiers.
This one with her shield of glass.
The one bold enough to be seen.
Protected by the light she reflected.