The warrior's rest

[Narolf]

It was the beginning of summer. Heat was drying this earth, still leaf-mold of a fresh spring blooming. Road had been cleared from its dust, like purified by celestial strength. Squalls of wind sometimes were arriving, sea's breezes which, rolling a leap onto all the plateau of the country, were bringing, up to the further of the fields, a salt chilliness. A dreamlike landscape like described in any fairytale.

The room was cold. For having been let deserted during many days, an acrid sent was reigning due to to the mix between the pins trees smell which was impregnated and the cracklings of the fire's sprigs. The scimitar of Wedge was reposing onto one of the sides of the fireplace, its chain listlessly swigging from the right to the left. The small sword and the shield of Roberto had been affixed onto the wall, the former tangled up onto the latter. The armor of the Ehxploiter was shinning from the back of the room, still sparkling despite its several notches. A bed littered in the middle of this confined space, bed onto which Yunoa was sleeping. He was peacefully enjoying some instants of rest after so many battles led.

The door banged. A young woman delicately trampled the floor under her naked feet. She was wearing a purple cloak as simple garment which was long enough to trail on the ground. A hood was bordering her head, hiding her eyes of a translucent blue. Only her fine hair was bringing out of this homogeneous entirety, suspended thanks to a simple medallion. She sited on the side of the bed, putting her hand onto Yunoa's shoulder. He shivered, coming out from his deep sleep. He set his half-closed eyes upon her. She was Jinnie, his beloved.

It was with an irrepressible gesture that he flatted his lips against her. Shimming through the garment with his hands, he detached the medallion.

He started to embrace her eyes which had coveted every terrestrial sumptuousness; then the nostrils, fond of lukewarm breezes; then the mouth, which had groaned of pride; then the hands, which delighted at suave touches; and finally, the sole of the feet, so fast when she was running to satisfy her desires.

As a fair return of things, she kissed the scars of his body one after one, stigmatas of rough battles which won't make him suffer any longer henceforth. She stroked his mouth from which pain had escaped. She moved her hand through his hair which some locks had been cut from.

It was a night of earthy pleasures, pleasures they almost forgot the existence in the rage of their battles. Both of them were rivaling of imagination, trying to gratify the other more than (s)he was already trying to. It lasted when exhaustion took them, before dawn.

He opened the eyes. Stretching his arm at his right, he found nothing but a carefully folded letter.

"It was good. Another time, perhaps."

The paper was still smelling her perfume. He didn't immediately notice the few words written in the nook.

"Bring me his feather."

He closed the door behind him. A frosty wind blew his face. The sky was gloomy, the clouds dark. A piercing laugh was audible through the echo. It was Funky, spreading discord in some remote land.

Yunoa put his sword on his shoulder and, with a haughty smile pulled from the corner of the lips, started to walk forward.