Van Zan stared at the red and gold flames, his body merely inches from the fire. If he took just one step forward, he’d most likely experience the piercing agony his comrades felt as the dragon’s weapon was breathed out upon them.
Fifteen had fallen today. Half their ranks gone. And those damn British were in there celebrating. Right now he hated life, hated everything, hated the hell hole this world had become. And that’s when the tears came. Hot and wet, he tried to hold them back, tried not to blink for fear that once he started, he would never be able to stop. Instead, he held his eyes wide, watching the flames meld into the charred earth below and the salmon-colored, moisture-filled sky above.
“What do you think you’re doing here?”
Fifteen of my men were killed today. Fifteen burned so badly, all that was left was a pile of ash. Grey dust that melded into the brown mud so perfectly you could barely tell it was there. And with no bodies to bury and nothing but the ignorant revelers inside, I was forced to find a place to be alone. And I came here.
But he didn’t turn to face Quinn, just watched the flames dance merrily while inside his soul collapsed.
“What are you doing here, Van Zan?”
This time he turned, eyes still unblinking, and headed over to that pretentious voice, to the man whose whole being was a swirl of brown and tan and black against the fading background of the night.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Look around you, Van Zan. I wouldn’t understand?”
His eyes darted to the mounds of dirt, recently dug graves with scraps of metal as markers, and he turned back to Quinn. Too many had died, too many gone. He thought of all those he had watched die, burned to unrecognizable heaps of melting flesh, and the tears threatened to spill over.
And they did, seeing nothing but the creamy blur of his hand reaching out to grasp the inky blackness of Quinn’s sweater. A steadying hand found his waist, another his cheek, wiping away the frustration and bitterness and hopelessness and sorrow all held inside. And he held on to the warmth, the burning skin against his own, the feel of Quinn, his Quinn, against him. It was then he found his strength.
“I won’t let you fall.”