❛ BEWARE ! ...

and    how   easy    for    her   to    decree,    certainly.    when   no    memory    of   him    remained    in   this    specter    chosen   to    haunt    him.   (    forgiveness    does   not    take    up   much    room    )    and    his   heart    aches!    or   truly    it    would   if    there    was   any    left    of   him,    a    fleeting   cry    of    a    thought    :    why    do   you    come    to   me    now,    when   I    am    like   this?    when    all   that    was    left   of    a    good   man    lay    rotting   there    beneath    those   brambles    and    persistent    flowers   that    grow?    

fate    was   cruel,    that    much   the    hessian    was   certain    of    by   now.    the    way   this    world    and   the    next    worked   was    beyond    his   grasp.    yet    he   finds    himself    fumbling   into    the    ache,   enthralled    by    the   way    she    draws   out    a    shadow   of    who    he   was    inside    of   him;    with    a    mere    sight.   something    tugging,    playfully   plucking    along    heartstrings.    draws   along    the    reigns   of    his    steed   to    a    stop   as    he    remains   there    stilted,    as   if    mulling    it   over.    of    course,   without    a    head   being    able    to   read    him    was   nigh    impossible.    yet   the    shift    in   the    air    is   apparent,    the    way   his    shoulders    grow   rigid    and    falter   in    their    coldness.   the    heavy    breath   of    the    warhorse   and    the    gentle   sound    of    the   wind    through    the   hollow    was    all   that    remained    for   a    moment,    enough   still    to    feel   like    a    lifetime.

❝    perhaps   not,    yet    still   ...    there    is   no    room    left   in    me    for   anything   but   wrath.

often    wonders   as    of    late,   if    the    way   his    heart    twinges   in    her    wake   was    a    selfish   sort    of    hunger.   a    man    of   few    words,    and   fewer    still    could   he    find    the   right    to    pair   when    he    was   in    her    gaze.   the    days    could   go    on    and   on    or    stop   forever    and    he   wouldn’t    complain    or   earn    the    ire   of    those    who   seek    to    toy   with    such    factors   beyond    him.    in   reality,    he    wouldn’t   have    noticed    anyhow.   although    his    heart   did    not    beat,   he    floundered    and   found    himself    plum   forgetting    the    fact.   striding    into    town   in    the    evening   as    though    he   was    a    soldier   lost    in    time,   she    made    him   feel    ...    alive.   the    error    of   his    ways    was   to    trust    in   such    a    factor,   of    the    humanity   in    being    seen   by    another.    to   forget    all    at   once    that    he   was    dead,    if   only    for    her   to    spend    a    few    moments   more    there...

he    knows   he    cannot    stop   her.    cannot    spirit   her    away    to   a    place    between   life    and    death,   some    pale    beyond   that    balances    e’er   so    deliberately    (    and    defiantly,    he   would    add    )    upon    the   edge    of    the   quiver.    she    was   not    the    sort   of    fall    to   the    folly    and   temptations    of    life   beyond    the    reach   of    cruel    men.   creatures    without    honor.   she    lived    defiantly   like    the    flowers   that    bloomed    at   the    dismay    of   the    elements    of   a    frigid    and   biting    winter.    she   was    someone    who   spirited    him    away   instead,    and    strode   off    to    make   her    own    path   in    the    grove   when    she    so   chose    ...    and   that    is    why   he    loved    her.

finds    himself   there    now    again,   silently    holding    her   hands    within    his   own    gloved    ones   as   he   remains   kneeled   before   her.   thumb    idly    tracing   circles    along    her   palm    and    noting   just    how    small   she    was    in   comparison    to    him,   something    in    his   chest    twinges    at   that.    such    a    proclamation    would   oft    leave    him   floundering    for    the   right    thing    to   say.    his    voice   comes    like    a    haunted    whisper,   low    and    warm   and    somehow    from   all    around    her.

❝    as    you   are    mine,    miss   Jacquelin    ...

she    was    a    stubborn    one,   that    much    was   certain.    chatty    and   not    in    the   slightest    horrified    by   the    ghastly    sight   of    him.    that   was    ...    new.   yet    her    fixations   upon    him    were   nothing    short    of   an    errant    affliction    of   moderate    intrigue,    fleeting   at    best    ...   or    so    he   thought.    persistence    would   have    it    that   once    more    he   would    saddled    with   a    companion,    much   to    his    own   dismay    and    worry.   (    was    it   not    him    that   doomed    his    old   love?    was    it   not    his    infatuation    with   her    compassion    that   damned    her    from   the    start?    )    many    things   he    was,    but   a    fool    he   was    not.    errant   behavior    would    not   allow    for    him   to    falter    in   his    guard    against   her    ...    but   then,    he    could   not    just    leave   her    there!    

what    cruel    creature   was    he    to   be    if    he   had?    something    festering   and    lost,    a    shadow    unto   himself.    kindness    begets   kindness    and    with   urgency    and    silent   reluctance    he    had   whisked    her    up   with    ease    upon   the    saddle    of   his    warhorse;    who   was    stubborn    enough   all    the    same   to    refuse    in   the    task    of   leaving    her    behind,   had    he    ever   fathomed    to    entertain   the    idea.    rides   in    silence,    though   his    grip    betrays   him    as    he   holds    her    firmly,   carefully,    close    to   his    chest.    there   was    no    drumbeat   of    a    heart   to    be    had   or    heard    as   comfort    there.    nothing   but    the    steady   sounds    of    his   horses    hoofbeats    as   he    rides    into   town,    like    a    thunder    rolling   over    the    hills.   her    proclamation    leaves   him    a    bit   befuddled,    stalled    for   any    sort    of   response.    how    could   someone    be    without   any    terror    in   his    arms,    while   facing    down    the   barrel    of    crossing   beyond    the    pale?

❝    you    are   certainly    lucky    that   I    happened    upon   you,    young    lady.   you    will    be   fine,    I    am   certain    of    it...

he    had    to   be,    after    all.   could    not    afford   to    entertain    the   outcome    of    failing   a    second    time   to    protect    those   in    need.