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Two drabbles [NaNo 2006]
Jan. 16th, 2007 10:06 pmLife
They tiptoe around each other, not really knowing where they’re going. They trust each other implicitly, each depending on the other as naturally as they depend on their own skills.
They’re quiet. He writes, pen scratching late into the night. She trains, steps thudding through the castle. When they’re together, sometimes they fight. She teaches him thirty ways to kill a man. Sometimes he reads to her. He teaches her to paint pictures in her mind.
She’s too good for him, and he doesn’t understand why she stays. He’d be surprised if he knew she thinks the same of him.
Death
She’s always given herself totally to the fight. It’s why she’s so good at it. She can see the way the battle unfolds, see the way the soldiers waltz, incomprehensible unless one’s part of it. She understands the dance.
So when the tempo changes, she’s caught off guard. By the time she figures out the new beat, it’s too late.
She’s been dancing with the wrong partner, and her staff’s buried to the hilt in her lover’s chest. He’s looking up at her, smiling his forgiveness. She stops, the steps forgotten, and the drumbeats of war echo through her mind.
They tiptoe around each other, not really knowing where they’re going. They trust each other implicitly, each depending on the other as naturally as they depend on their own skills.
They’re quiet. He writes, pen scratching late into the night. She trains, steps thudding through the castle. When they’re together, sometimes they fight. She teaches him thirty ways to kill a man. Sometimes he reads to her. He teaches her to paint pictures in her mind.
She’s too good for him, and he doesn’t understand why she stays. He’d be surprised if he knew she thinks the same of him.
Death
She’s always given herself totally to the fight. It’s why she’s so good at it. She can see the way the battle unfolds, see the way the soldiers waltz, incomprehensible unless one’s part of it. She understands the dance.
So when the tempo changes, she’s caught off guard. By the time she figures out the new beat, it’s too late.
She’s been dancing with the wrong partner, and her staff’s buried to the hilt in her lover’s chest. He’s looking up at her, smiling his forgiveness. She stops, the steps forgotten, and the drumbeats of war echo through her mind.