Tell me what you think, pls.

[OnyxCougar]

.

She walked, as a zombie, through the mounds of bodies. Her mind numb, overcome by the screams of the injured and the wails of those who had searched throughout the long night and found only the pain and suffering that battle brings. Her hair was matted and tangled, the once young, innocent face now smudged and care worn. Her white gown covered her form, its hem torn and battered, dirty and bloodied. Bits of armor were fastened upon her, mismatched and worn, ill fitting and hard used. She had taken a shield from one of the dead in the early morning, and held it before her. Her feet were bare, and she limped through the battlefield, only dimly aware of the trail she left in her wake, marking the passage of her footsteps.

She trudged her way through the mist. It hung heavy and low over the valley, like a gray shroud. It covered everything with cold, clammy driblets of sweat. She wiped her forehead, leaving another streak of some unnamable substance across her face. It went unnoticed.

Occasionally, her form would pause in the morning dew, and gaze upon the misshapen form of what was once a man. Her eyes took everything in: the twisted face, its countenance that of a cruel grin, eyes empty and staring into that eternal void of clarity and thought, reason forever banished. She moved past the dead form and resumed her search.

Parts of men lay strewn among the wreckage, a severed leg here, a pale arm leaning askew by a tree stump, fingers reaching up in supplication. Her eyes slid off these disjointed images and she sighed, recalling the ancient tale of an old cleric, attempting to create a man. “All of the best parts,” she murmured, “do not the best man make.”

Her swollen feet had brought her to the southern portion of the long valley. It had taken all morning and some of the afternoon. The sun’s light, obscured by the thick fog, did not warm her or give her comfort. There was only the vacuum of the mist and bodies, scattered like red autumn leaves.

She shook her head, as if to clear it. She knew not why she stood in this place. All of her experiences had led her here, at this time, and the hope that had sustained her through the morning dimmed in the afternoon grayness. Standing, blue eyes remarkable against her pale, smudged visage, arms hanging by her sides, she existed, brought to this place by unseen, unknowable forces, for a purpose she had yet to understand. Time ceased within that colorless cloud; all motion halted. She merely waited, resigned.

She became aware of a flute playing in the distance. The tune was forlorn, its notes slowly and painfully borne. Resonating throughout the valley, it echoed in her thoughts and wound its beautiful tendrils into her soul. The shield before her body could not protect her from this. It was as if the creator of that symphonic light had directed its beam at her.

Slowly, subtly, the notes transcended this quietly endured pain and suffering and began to speak of hope. There was so much complexity in the simplest note; her mind could not ascertain every nuance. She wept at the beauty woven by naturally skilled hands. Her feet moved of their own accord, following the sweet trail of aural light into the foothills.





The source of the music grew closer as her feet carried her up the hills. Warm grass caressed the soles of her feet, soothing her wounds. Her toes dug into the earth and looking up, she saw a hint of the blue sky. The mist was moving, its chilling touch pushed away briefly by warm, late spring air. She lifted her chin and breathed deeply of the wafts of fresh air as it caressed her face. The notes were more strident, calling her; written for her alone.

She stopped suddenly, as the knowledge hit her that although the song had been playing for such time as she could remember, she was the only one that heard it. She pondered this for a moment. How was she hearing it? She turned back and looked at the path her feet had trod. There was no one else in the mists behind her. Returning her gaze to the hills above her, she nodded and walked slowly upward.

As she rounded a bend in the trail, she saw him. It was a knight. He was sitting with his back against a massive oak tree, legs crossed. His sword lay next to him, and a massive shield was resting against the tree to his right. His hair was unruly, and his eyes gazed at her. The sound resonating within her soul came from this man, but he held no instrument.

He rose to his feet. Quiet strength emanated from him; a certain knowledge that he would not fall before the storm. Whatever trial or obstacle stood before him would be overcome. Honor and truth were more than his life, they were his very essence. His road had been long, fraught with hardships known only to the innermost soul, and had led him here, to this silent grove.

He looked upon her and fell to one knee, bowing his head. She walked to him, shedding her armor at each step. Standing before him in only the white fabric of her gown, she laid her hand gently upon his head. He trembled. She spoke quietly, but her rich voice echoed in his heart, “I have heard the call of thy soul. It sings to me still. By sheer will and courage hast thou fought to reach this place. Rise, Sir Knight, and stand beside me. I will be thine inspiration and grace, as thou shalt be my valor and strength. Together we will forge a kingdom such as has been foretold in our hearts since the moment our existence began. I bid thee: take up thy sword and gird it to thyself with my love.”

He rose to his feet and smiled down at her, then bent and tasted the wine of her lips for the first time. Their eyes met, and now the melody of his heart was joined by the harmony of her own.