SAFRIN
He nodded, and so she released him.
It wouldn't just be the wind that whipped by the Sword as he fell, but all of the ghosts of his past. The faces that had gathered around him at meetings called, those that slunk and plotted behind his back. The faces of those killed in battle, of those abandoned and betrayed. Loves gone, children that might have been in other lives. Amulets and tents, swords of blue-glass and laughing gods with thunder in their smiles. Hands tangled in hair, on hips; promises made in fervent whispers and broken. Failure, and failure, and failure.
But certain as anything was the ground racing up to greet the Sword, to embrace him as he never had been before, and finally answer the question as to the colour and calibre of his soul.
It wouldn't just be the wind that whipped by the Sword as he fell, but all of the ghosts of his past. The faces that had gathered around him at meetings called, those that slunk and plotted behind his back. The faces of those killed in battle, of those abandoned and betrayed. Loves gone, children that might have been in other lives. Amulets and tents, swords of blue-glass and laughing gods with thunder in their smiles. Hands tangled in hair, on hips; promises made in fervent whispers and broken. Failure, and failure, and failure.
But certain as anything was the ground racing up to greet the Sword, to embrace him as he never had been before, and finally answer the question as to the colour and calibre of his soul.
