Something Beautiful
Close my eyes and hold my heart
Cover me and make me something
Change this something normal
Into something beautiful
Chronology: Tristan is 18. Raja is 8.
The woods were quiet and Tristan moved through them with
great stealth. It was his morning hunt, perhaps a rabbit a deer; he hoped he
would snag something good. After a bit of preying he spotted a plump grey
rabbit idling just in plain sight. Perfect,
he thought. He took careful aim with his arrow, but a mere moment before he
unleashed his arrow; a figure tumbled and rolled, snatching the rabbit out of
the way. That was the third time this week!
“Dammit, Raja!” he yelled.
She appeared behind him, cuddling the rabbit in her arms,
petting it lovingly. Why hadn’t he heard her? That imp of a girl could be
quieter than him at times. Tristan stared at her; barely able to say a word for
his anger rendered his tongue immobile.
“You,” Tristan said, finding his words, “have been a pain in
the ass-”
Raja smiled at him with disarming innocence. “Ruining your
hunt,” she finished. “Yeah, yeah,” she mimicked him, and kissed the rabbit on
its head.
The little half Sarmatian half Egyptian girl had only been
at the fortress for four months, but she and the scout had already developed a
comfortable rapport. Tristan found her easier to communicate with than most
other people. For such a young girl, she spoke clearly and intelligently. He
couldn't help but think her endearing. She had an old soul and far too much
life experience in her eyes, but at the same time she had a wealth of innocence
about her that highlighted her childlike qualities.
“That’s the third time this week,” he said with an edge.
Yes, sabotaging his hunts. Sometimes with a warning call to the animals,
scaring them away. Or greeting him with distracting politeness.
She just grinned at him again, beginning to walk off back to
the fort, rabbit in tow. He sighed harshly and slipped his bow over his
shoulder.
“Are you coming, Trissy?” she said, looking back at him.
Trissy, he thought,
rolling his eyes. She still insisted on calling him that no matter his profuse
opposition. But, he supposed he could tolerate it – as long as she didn’t call
him that in front of anyone else.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled under his breath, stepping in line
with the girl.
All the way to the fort she continued to coddle his furry
should-have-been victim. And what’s worse! He couldn’t even stay mad at her.
Tristan guessed it was all right if it brought a smile to her face. He knew
that she had trouble sleeping and she confided in him that she rarely ever fell
fully asleep. Nightmares, she had said with sadness. Her face looked a bit wan,
and he had caught her more than once staring off into nothing with a look of
grief in her eyes. It was eerie how her pupils grew so wide that her eyes
appeared black with only that ring of silver. It was like an eclipse. Tristan
wondered what demons haunted her.
“Don’t snivel, Tristan,” she said, and smiled at him. She
was full of smiles this morning.
“I’m not sniveling!”
“Look how happy she is,” she told him, holding up the animal
to his face.
He grunted in bemusement and cursed under his breath in his
native tongue.
“You forget that I can understand Sarmatian.” She pointed
her small finger up at him for emphasis.
“Yeah, well, you know too much for your own good.”
Raja laughed. “You’re a beautiful individual, Tristan.”
Before he could say anything, she continued to walk. Okay, I’m going to let that one go.
As they walked, Raja nuzzled and petted the bunny.
“I’m Raja,” she said. “And this is Trissy. What is your name?”
Tristan peered at her from under his shaggy bangs.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “It is nice to meet you, too, Whiskers.” She turned her head up to look at Tristan. “This is Whiskers.”
He grunted.
As they entered the population of the fort, Tristan
unconsciously became distant of the girl. He had a reputation, not really of
his own making, but more from populations’ idea of him. He could only imagine
the things that would be said behind his back if people thought he was too
chummy with the kid. Not that he cared what others thought – he supposed. The
scout wasn’t used to having a companion, and certainly not
“Are you going to eat breakfast?” she asked.
He heard a few men snicker only a few feet away, his
discomfort now palpable. “Yeah,” he muttered, “Be there in a few,” and walked
off quickly.
“Wait,” she called after him. “I’ll come with you.”
He stopped in his tracks. “The tavern is just over there. You can walk there yourself, can’t you?”
Some of the cheer from her face disappeared and he felt a pang of guilt. She often would follow him around, and most everyone. Especially her uncle, as if she were afraid to go anywhere herself. Usually he didn’t mind, but...
Raja nodded solemnly, head down. Tristan went his own way.
She was hurt, and a nugget of fear curdled in her stomach as she stood with her animal friend in the middle of the courtyard. It was broad daylight, but she wasn’t used to being by her lonesome. She wished her uncle was with her.
“Come on, Whiskers, we can get you some carrots or something.”
----------------------
There were knights smattered around the tavern at various tables, even in the few months she had been at the fortress, the numbers dwindled continuously. These men were being checkmated in battle by successive execution; she had never attended so many funerals before in her life. Raja spotted Dagonet and Bors sitting at the other end of the tavern and walked over to them after a brief moment of hesitation. Dagonet and Bors were like the big brothers she never had. Bors being the vulgar, garrulous one, teaching her all sorts of obscene insults that she had never heard. At least in English. When she first met Dagonet she had been amazed at his towering height, but to her amazement he had been ever so gentle.
“Can I sit with you?” she asked them quietly, approaching
their table.
“You needn’t ask,” Dagonet said, and pulled out the chair
next to him, smiling. He adored the little girl, thinking her like a little
sister.
Raja plopped on the chair, wiggling her rear to get seated
comfortably, at the small circular table and held the rabbit in her lap. One of
the barmaids, a pretty redhead, brought Raja’s usual breakfast. The first time
she had sat in the tavern for breakfast and had said thank-you to her, she
almost dropped the plate.
“Thank you, Vanora,” Raja said.
“You look more beautiful everyday, Vanora,” Bors said. He
had been trying to woo her into his quarters for weeks.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Vanora snipped. She smiled
at Raja and Dagonet and went about her work.
Raja took a piece of carrot and fed it to the rabbit.
“What animal are you going to bring in here next – a wolf?”
Bors asked, stuffing his face with bread. “Animals at the table.”
She grinned. “Oh, I would love to meet a wolf!”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t serious.”
“I know, but I’d still like to meet one up close.”
“Where did you find this one?” Dagonet asked.
Raja gave him a knowing look and a guileless curve of her
lips.
“That’s the third time this week,” Dagonet said.
Bors laughed heartily. “I bet Tristan was pissed as hell!”
------------------------
Instead of going to breakfast like he said he was, he headed
to the archery range to ease some of his tension.
Damned Lancelot,
he fumed. What the hell does he know?
Tristan was sick of Lancelot’s constant quips about him
turning into a softy, or: Isn’t my cousin a little young for you? Disgusting.
Bastard! He was pissed at Lancelot and he was pissed at
himself for letting that get to him. And then the other men laughed. Tristan
launched his arrows expertly, ignoring the other men staring at his prowess as
they sometimes did. After he had emptied the quiver, he retrieved them and got
ready to shoot another set.
“Weren’t you coming to breakfast, Tristan?” Dagonet asked.
He was followed by Lancelot and Raja sans rabbit, having returned it to its
home. She was carrying her small bow and equally small quiver of arrows. The
two knights had their own set of bows and arrows. Hers looked like toys
compared to theirs.
Lancelot smirked, and Tristan gave him a cold stare that
made the cocky grin on his face flicker.
“Not hungry,” he replied shortly. He released the arrow and
hit the target dead center.
Lancelot said something to the man next to him, and they
laughed. The man repeated what Lancelot said to a few other men down the line
and they guffawed uproariously as well. Tristan’s jaw clenched and he looked
over for a split second to see Lancelot and his drones snickering, throwing
glances in his direction. Dagonet noticed Tristan’s ill at ease behavior and
turned to see what he was looking at.
“Hey, Tristan!” Lancelot called. He didn’t know when to
quit.
The scout ignored him.
The curly haired knight whispered something.
“You hush, Lancelot,” Raja said to her cousin. "You're
a meanie." She had her hands on her hips, looking up at her cousin with a
scrunched face.
This made the men laugh harder.
“Is she your bodyguard now?” a nameless man piped up.
Tristan took a threatening step forward, but he was held
back by Dagonet’s firm hand on his shoulder.
“You too,” Raja said. “You shouldn’t say mean things like
that. It’s just mean.”
“That’s cute,” the man said.
“Would you stop?” Tristan hissed at her.
She looked at him a bit confused and hurt.
“I don’t need you to stand up for me. Just get out of here,”
he growled.
“Tristan,” Dagonet said sternly. “She was just trying to
help.”
“I don’t care,” he said, shaking off Dagonet’s hand. “She’s
a pain the ass.”
“Hey, you don’t have to-” Lancelot started.
But he was not deterred. Raja stood there, looking at him blankly, her pupils large. A film of tears gathered in her eyes.
“Are you deaf?” Tristan snapped, using his bite to ignore the pain he knew he was causing her.
She blinked as if she was just then getting the message. She sniffled. Tristan saw the bewilderment in her eyes and his anger abated, he was instantly sorry. But before he could say anything she ran off.
“Real nice,” Lancelot said. “You-”
Before Lancelot could finish his sentence, Tristan’s fist
flew at his face.
------------------------
Despite the fair morning, dark clouds and strong winds
appeared as the day came to an end, rain would surely fall. After Raja had run
off, Tristan left Lancelot splayed out on the ground while Dagonet tended an
unconscious and bloody Lancelot. Tristan had stomped his way back to his room,
lying on the bed while he stared at the ceiling. There was a torment of guilt
for what he had said to Raja, and he hated himself for letting those idiots get
to him. Well, next time he saw her he’d apologize and everything would be all
right. She’d forgive him – wouldn’t she? He heard thunder and a snap of
lightning, following by the splattering of rain. His thoughts were interrupted
by a pounding on the door. When he answered it, Dagonet stood before him,
already drenched from the rain.
“What?” Tristan asked.
“Have you seen, Raja?” Dagonet asked.
“Shouldn’t she be in her room?”
“No, she’s not there. She’s not in the stables. Nobody’s
seen her since she ran off earlier. Not even Ardeth. He is worried sick”
“But she always goes in the stables or her room when it’s
raining. She hates the thunder,” Tristan insisted.
“Well, she’s not there, and her uncle is going out to look
for her. I’m going, too. Do you have any ideas where she might be?”
“Just one.”
But she wasn’t there at their place in the forest. Dagonet, Ardeth,
and Tristan split up, roaming the woods for her. Arthur and Bors stayed behind,
making checks around the fortress, Lancelot was still a bit worse for the wear
after being manhandled by Tristan.
The rain beat down on the scout’s face harshly, the thunder
was picking up. Raja usually tried to be brave when she was frightened, but she
was openly disturbed by the sound of thunder. It was dark now, and the moon was
ensconced by a mass of murky clouds. The last time it had rained like this,
just two weeks ago, he and Raja had sat in her room in front of the fire, the
young girl teaching him how to play chess. It was a game of tactics, planning,
skill – his sort of game.
Tristan’s keen eyes scanned the forested area, his clothes
now soaked through and through. He was granted a reprieve when the clouds
dispersed from the moon’s light, and his eye caught something standing out
among brush. He moved cautiously, if it was her, he didn’t want to scare her.
He was finally in sight of the object, and was met by a brand of white hair,
bouncing off the night’s luminescence. He hastily dismounted and crouched near
Raja whom was huddled in a tight ball against a tree. He was relieved to have
found her, but his relief was replaced by worry when he took a closer look. Her
arms were scraped from branches; her hair was tangled with twigs and leaves, her
face a blank stare.
She was shivering violently, her teeth chattering, the only
movements she was making. He moved his head slightly, taking a closer look at
her. Her eyes. Her eyes were chasms of black; staring...staring at what he
didn’t know. He had seen this look before, but not to this extent. And Ardeth
had always appeared to take her in his arms and soothe her. It seemed as if she
were watching something going on in front of her, but the only thing in her
line of vision was a mass of vegetation.
As shrilly as he could he whistled, hoping that Ardeth and
Dagonet would hear it. He was hesitant to move her while she was in this
trance. He whistled again, yelled for them. In her hand she held her silver
hilted dagger that she always carried with her. It had been her mothers, and
she carried it with her more as a keepsake than anything else, just as she
always wore her late father’s dragon trinket. Without thinking, he plucked the
dagger that was clenched in her fist, but that proved to be a mistake. She
screamed. And screamed. It was the loudest he had heard her ever raise her
voice, other than those times she woke up in the night screaming. She didn’t
look at him, just continued to stare where she had been. Tristan tried to quiet
her, but the thunder roared, and she became more hysterical. Raja sounded as if
she were in pain, shrieking from the depths of her soul, agony that could not
be articulated in words.
He picked her up, but in this she struggled. She kicked and
flailed, her shouts never ceasing. Tristan heard the clamor of hooves on the
ground, Dagonet, and Ardeth approaching. He almost dropped her, so strong was
her resistance. He had never attempted to hold her before.
When Ardeth approached he said, “She was just sitting there,
and I took the dagger from her hands...” He didn’t know what to do.
Ardeth nodded, obviously he knew what her reaction was when
this happened, and he took her from Tristan’s arms and held her firmly, saying
something in Arabic. Slowly, she stopped screaming and wriggling, becoming
slack.
Dagonet had ridden ahead, taking initiative to get a warm
bath, dry clothes, and healing implements prepared for her. Tristan and Ardeth
mounted their horses and galloped back to the fort.
--------------------------
For a week she was bedridden, catatonic. She came out of it
slowly, bit by bit. Feeding her was difficult, she was too weak to raise her
head, and despite that she was now aware of her surroundings, she refused to
eat at times. After another week she could sit up and was eating more. Raja was
finally able to at least sit in a chair by the window in the sunshine, but she
still said nothing. Her uncle sat next to her, reading to her, his patience
infinite. Sometimes she sat on her uncle's lap, snuggling next to him as close
as she could, her anchor to the world. Her cheeks were sunken in, and her brown
skin had turned to a yellowish pallor. Another week went by, and she finally
ventured outside. Her and her uncle took walks, but she tired quickly. The
knights would sit with her at times, Arthur read to her as well. The only who
didn’t sit with her was Tristan. He went by her room and looked in, but that
was all. In some way he felt that this was partly his fault.
“Will you not go visit her for a while, Tristan?” Dagonet
asked him.
Tristan shrugged.
Dagonet sighed. “I think she would appreciate your company.”
“What makes you think that – after what I said to her?”
“She’s your friend. Probably the best one you’ve ever had,”
adding it as an afterthought before walking away.
-------------------------
Tristan walked down the hall to her room, hearing her
uncle’s voice reading to her. She sat there knitting, barely even looking at
the needles she was working with expertise. Ardeth must have heard him because
he stopped mid-sentence to see Tristan in the doorway.
“I’ll come back later,” he mumbled. But Ardeth stopped him
before he could take two steps.
“No, Tristan. Come in, come in,” he insisted.
Raja did not look up or even acknowledge the shift of
company. Ardeth ushered him in and made him take the seat he had just occupied.
“You leave tomorrow for patrol, visit for a while.” Ardeth put a loving hand on
Raja’s head and smoothed her fly-away hairs. “I will not be far, little one,
all right?” He kissed her on the head and quit the room.
There was a slight breeze drifting in from the open window. She still did not take notice of his presence, and the discomfort was palpable. He took in her appearance, the lost weight, she was still a bit pale, but the brief excursions she took outside had added a bit of health to her. She wore her cotton robe, a tunic, and hose underneath. Thick socks covered her smaller than small feet. As far as he knew, she hadn’t said a word yet, so it was probably pointless to attempt to engage her in conversation. He certainly couldn’t read to her, especially from the book Ardeth had just been reading to her. He still couldn’t comprehend the squiggles and dots of Arabic.
A tiny mouse was sitting on her shoulder. Not Moses the
mouse, he knew, for that mouse had passed on a little over a month ago, causing
Raja to grieve. She had even had a funeral for the rodent. And not long after,
another mouse had “found her,” a “friend of Moses.” The small creature that
accompanied her now was named Harold.
He sighed. After sitting for a while staring out the window
and taking sidelong glances at her, he blurted: “I’m sorry for what I said to
you.”
She continued to knit.
“It was...wrong of me. There’s really no good excuse, I’m
just a bastard, I guess.”
Raja stopped knitting, but still didn’t say anything. She
looked at him, as if waiting for him to go on.
“Damn,” Tristan said under his breath. Now what the hell was
he supposed to do? “Thanks for defending me...like you did. I shouldn’t have
let them get to me.” And it dawned on him that he couldn’t remember the last
time someone had stuck up for him.
Suddenly she gave a weary sigh, and a look of immense
exhaustion came over her. “I thought we were friends,” she said quietly and
sadly.
He was startled by her words, the fact that she had spoken
at all.
“Well, I’d still like to be your friend, if you can forgive
me.” Not in a million years would he have thought he’d be having a conversation
like this.
Raja sniffed and plucked Harold from her shoulder to hold him
in her hands. “You were mean.”
Oddly, his heart sunk at her words. The thought of not spending time with her anymore pained him. He regretted all the more his behavior, and he usually tried to make it a point in his life to have no regrets.
Those three words, “You were mean” were worse than the names
men and women alike called him behind his back. And he had never cared what
they had said to him in the first place.
“I understand,” he said, trying to hide the disappointment
in his voice. He cleared his throat. “Well, I leave on patrol tomorrow.
Probably be gone, not more than a week.” When she didn’t reply, he got up to
make his departure. “Bye,” he said simply, he could think of nothing else to
say. She just continued to pet Harold.
When he got to the door, he stopped and turned around. “You
may not believe me, Raja, or even care now...” his jaw clenched, “but you’re
the best friend I’ve ever had.”
-------------------------------
Five days later they arrived back at the fort. They were dirty, tired, and hungry, and the first thing they did was bathing. Tristan stayed in the bath house longer, stewing in the warm water long after the other knights had left. His feet were calloused and blistered more than usual and it hurt like hell to walk. He hadn’t seen Raja when he got back, and it was odd not to, because she always stood in the courtyard with her uncle Ardeth when they came riding in. But he had heard Ardeth tell Dagonet that she was resting. He rubbed his eyes and sank under the water.
He harshly scrubbed his hair and scalp and the rest of his
body. He got out of the bath, stepping tenderly on his sore feet. He put on his
raggedy, but clean clothes, he had forgotten a pair of socks, and walked to his
quarters.
The door was already open, the firing roaring.
“Hi, Trissy!” Raja greeted him warmly. She was pitter-pattering around the room, Harold a lump on her shoulder under her blue jerkin.
He opened his eyes in surprise. “Hi.”
“I’m really glad you all got back safe.” She nodded. “I am.” Raja put the tip of her finger in a basin of water. “Okay, it’s ready. Put your feet in.”
Pausing for a brief moment, he finally sat in front of the chair by the fire and put his feet in scalding hot water. “Christ!” he hissed, but let his feet submerge anyway. He felt a tingling. “What’s in this water?”
“Balms and things,” she said. “My walida used to use this stuff for my baba.”
There was a plate of food on the small table. Bread, meat and vegetables, and mug of some...
“Tea,” Raja said. “My Uncle Ardeth says it is good for you. Yes, he did,” she said, confirming her own words.
He would have preferred ale, but he wasn’t going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. He wasn’t accustomed to this sort of special care. But he ate his meal and drank the tea, which was quite tasty.
“Can I take my feet out?”
“Nope,” she replied blithely. She stood by him with a comb. “I will comb your hair.”
His brow rose sky-high.
“Can I?” she asked, hope laced her words.
He grumbled, “I guess.”
Raja began to take out the tangles and knots from his uneven, jagged tresses. He sat, unmoving, until she declared herself finished.
“Want me to trim it, too?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
“Okay.” She cleaned the comb and put it away in a black satchel. “You can take your toes out now.” She held out a jar of cream. “Put this on your feet.”
Tristan perused the jar suspiciously.
“Oh! And look! Look, look!” Raja walked to his bed and plucked a pair of newly knitted socks from the bed.
He saw that there was something else on his bed that he’d failed to notice. A coat? He stood up and went to his bed and held up the jacket. It wasn’t brand new, but he could tell that it was a coat that had been carefully mended with new thread and cleaned thoroughly, and it smelled...good. There were pockets sewn in, and smaller pockets that looked like sheaths for daggers on the inside chest.
“I saw your other one was almost rags,” she said. “So I tried to make you another one.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
“You like it?”
“Yeah.”
Raja clasped her hands together against her chest in happiness, and she surprised him by giving him a hug, she barely reached his waist, so her head rested against his thigh. He patted her back awkwardly, but in a sincere gesture of...affection?
She let him go and he put the jacket on over his tunic. It was a perfect fit, reached just a tad past his knees the way his other one did. At her insistence, he put the cream on his feet, then put his new socks on his feet.
A little while later, Ardeth appeared in the doorway with a benevolent air. He greeted Tristan, and gave him a small grin, a knowing one.
Raja ran to her uncle and gave him a hug. Always greeting him like she had not seen him in days, instead of hours. Ardeth plucked her up from the floor.
“I think it is near to someone’s bed time,” Ardeth said.
“Oh, no!” Raja exclaimed, looking back and forth between Tristan and the Egyptian. “I’m not sleepy, really I’m not!”
Ardeth chuckled.
“Me and Harold aren’t sleepy,” she said.
“So you say, little one,” Ardeth replied gently.
Raja sighed. “Okay...”
She asked if she could give Trissy a goodnight hug, and Ardeth set her down so she could do. This time, Tristan embraced her a bit more comfortably, despite Ardeth’s presence.
They left the room, and down the hall Tristan heard her ask, “Can we play Chess?”
The voices were further and faint, “No, little one,” Ardeth replied.
“Oh, poop,” Raja said dejectedly.
------------------------------
It was completely dark when Tristan emerged from his room
after his own brief rest. He got up and noticed that his feet did feel better.
Tristan decided to go to the tavern. His boots were sitting a safe distance
from the fire, aired out and clean of the dirt and mud.
When he entered the tavern it was loud and fairly crowded. Bors noticed him and waved him over. He took a seat with him and Dagonet, ale being instantly served to him by a lasciviously smiling wench. A minute later Lancelot took a seat across from Tristan, the curly haired knight’s swagger and cockiness was back by now.
“Are you wearing a new coat?” he asked.
“You are observant,” Tristan said dryly. Not mentioning that
it wasn’t new, but he was enjoying Lancelot’s peeved expression.
“How much did that cost?” he asked incredulously.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he stated.
Lancelot looked at Dag and Bors for assistance. But they
were both chuckling at Lancelot’s apparent bewilderment and resentment at the
usually shabby dressed Tristan having a “brand new” jerkin. A look of clarity
came over Lancelot’s face.
“Someone gave it to you!” he accused. “What wench would give
you such a gift?”
Dagonet rolled his eyes. Bors was busy chatting with Vanora,
who had suddenly come around. Unbeknownst to him, Vanora had seen how Bors
acted around Raja, attentive and gentle, and Vanora figured the gruff knight
couldn’t be all bad.
“I’m off!” he announced with a wide grin on his face and
Vanora’s hand in his.
Lancelot was still stewing over Tristan’s good fortune,
finally going off with a woman.
“Raja?” Dagonet asked him.
Tristan nodded.
“She’s good to have around,” Dag said. “We read Latin
together,” he confided.
Tristan raised his eyebrows in surprise. He nodded,
understanding the peace the little girl could bring to a person.
After Dagonet left, Tristan headed back to his room as well.
Normally, coming back from an arduous patrol, he would obtain the company of a
wench, but not this night. He felt clean, and wanted to maintain the air that
did not smell of a sweaty woman who reeked of other men. When he got back to
his room, he took off his coat and draped it over a chair, and put the other
clothes on the seat of the chair. He went to sleep in his breeches and
undershirt, drifting off.
--------------------------
The rain woke him up. After that he couldn’t fall back asleep.
When the latch on his door flipped off by itself, he instantly went for his
sword, but when Raja popped her head in, a lump on her head which he surmised
was Harold, he relaxed.
“Come in,” he said.
She slipped in and closed the door. She went and plopped on
his bed, and he saw that her pupils were wide again.
“What’s wrong?” he asked concerned.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she whispered. “It’s too loud, and They
might come back.”
All he heard was the sound of rain. “Who might come back?”
She flinched when a rumble of thunder sounded.
“Here,” he said, pulling the covers back without thinking.
“Can Harold sleep, too?” she asked. The mouse was now in her hands.
“Sure.”
She crawled under the covers and on top of him, her head
against his chest. Harold was next to his shoulder. He laid back and pulled the covers over them.
For some reason this felt like the most natural thing in the world. She twisted
his hair around her finger, her other hand petting the mouse. He took her tiny
fist in his hand, enveloping it.
“Am I too heavy?” she asked quietly.
“Hmmph. You’re light as a feather.”
They lay in silence, she still twirling his hair around her
finger.
“I don’t know who they are, Raja,” he said quietly, “but I
won’t let them hurt you, okay?”
Her head nodded against his chest, and he held her to him
with his free arm. She warmed his body, and he felt peace. She yawned like a
baby, and smacked her lips. Eventually he could tell that she had drifted off
because her hand had stopped moving. He pulled the covers up higher, and began
to drift off himself. It was the most peaceful slumber he had had in years.
And I'm still fighting for the
Word to break these chains
And I still pray when I look
In your eyes, you'll stare right
Back down into something beautiful
-Jars of Clay