Sun was setting in the far oblivion.
Her home, a furlong away was visible in the twilight as a beautiful patch of grey over the blazing red that was now the horizon. Heaving foot one ahead of the other,
she slowly made herself walk towards it, the loneliness that
she suffered wanting her to go back the stone track, through the meadow, towards the river bank.
It was here, in the hours after
she had left her friend, a young bright lass of her age, that a traveller, seated on a hand-made saddle, placed on the darkest and the mightiest horse she had ever seen, stopped
her.
His face was hidden half beneath the scarf with the golden braided edge and the dark brown eyes had expressed, beyond his attempts to mask them, an exquisite liking and a warm feeling of unearthly fondness.
She could sense his eyes wandering from
her hair, that was gently flying in the mild breeze coming from nowhere, to the features on
her face, and further beyond. A sense of uneasiness set in initially, but soon gave way to a unique sensation she had never felt before. He got down from the beast, and started stroking its mane,
his eyes fixed on the beauty in front of him. His boots showed signs of rough times, and the leather holsters on either side of his belt held guns with ivory butt.
It was unusual for a stranger to ride into their town, in the valley beside the snow-capped mountain. They were the cast-away from the kingdom of the cruel
king, and defying his rule was their mistake. The mountain provided them protection from the king's guards, and from the beasts that prowled in the jungles beyond. The tracks leading to the village had given way to vegetation, the
reminiscence of a prosperous trade route. Any person coming from other side of the mountain was hanged in the town centre, for, if he is left alive , their settlement could be ambushed by the cruel king.
He talked to
her in a language that was not her own. His voice , she imagined, were of the gods her mother always spake of. Unmistakeably
she could comprehend the essence of his words as though they were connected by a link from the past, perhaps from a previous birth. He lifted the gunny pouch hanging from his waist,requesting for the elixir of life- water. She gently took it in her hand. Their fingers touched for a brief moment and a pulsating surge sent shivers through her nerves.
She drew back immediately, her soft snow-white cheeks now wearing the vibrancy of a rose bud.
Her breath quickened as
she curvetted towards the rivulet.
The chirping of the blue-tail reminded her of the romantic ballad her grandma used to recite.
Anxiety mounting,
she quickly filled the pouch with water, and ran back to the place where she left him. Her heart beat faster than ever as she imagined his face beneath the scarf, daring herself to speak once she got back.
He was lying under the large oak tree. The horse
he had straddled was no where to be seen. She set herself next to him, resisting her temptation to touch his hands that now rested on his chest. His breath was heavy, and words were choking his throat.
She gently placed her hands on his back, rendering him support enough to sit.
Her emotions flooded beyond bounds as
her arm drenched in his blood. The gaping
wound on his back was draining him of all the vitality
he was left with, drawing him closer to the darker world beyond life. Their eyes locked for a brief moment.
His hand gently rose, caressing her face, before falling down, lifeless...
Dedication: to a very special friend,
Merlin, who inspired me to write this...
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