War-Boy

*Coeus* · 01-26-2014, 10:04 PM

Coeus? stride went on, as unfaltering as clock-work that had been wound just for that purpose; and yet he was lame, troubled with the unclean staggering of twisted limbs and shattered bones, rattling and clicking as he paced. In his wake pieces would fall, one after the other, the nuts and bolts of his being strewn within a forgotten path; and yet still he held together, miraculously. He did not wander but march, inner shouting repeating, ?Air, unclean!? and the words would reach for him and bend, twisted fingers of screaming agony and frightful faces. And her face could be seen among them, the reds and silvers of her beauty, each strand so delicate against the gentle pull of an evening breeze, she was blissful and she didn?t care about the danger that lurked. For a moment he would soften, concentrating on restraining the spasmodic snarl that involuntarily ticked his features.

But her scream was unable to be ignored, the scream that had haunted him for so many years after her vile murder. He would pause at the shoreline, or so he had wanted to; it took his staggering limbs a few extra moments to agree with the desires of his aged mind. So perfect she had been, and so perfect she was, he craved for nothing more than to be at peace with her, to not be plagued by the recalls of her savagery. He wanted to be ripped apart as he had done to those that devoured her, for so many years of killing the bad, of taking lives and wounding souls, it was all he requested that he be taken the same way. But nature was not compliant, and as the heavy ashes would fill the mans lungs, as he would not struggle for air but rather let the pain ease his mind, he would watch; paws light within the salt waters, gazing out to the island his brothers daughter had claimed as her haven. Had he fulfilled what his brother wanted?

But he was wise even within his broken mind, and he would not feel traumatized by any wishes that went unheard. He had done as he could, and he had saved more lives than he had taken. He was a war-boy, always had been and always would be. And even though he did not get the death of honour he so badly deserved, did not get his head mounted as another mans prize, he would be taken away by the breathlessness of his tired lungs. So willingly would he lay down, partially submersed by soothing waters, but partially earthed. He could feel his senses fading, even more so than he had before; the wounded nerves in his body that felt little soon felt nothing. A tingle here and there as his body eased away from reality, but not much of anything. His death was quite dull, but within what little part of his brain that still remained, he saw his lover, as magnificent as ever, and no longer was she a memory, but a reality.

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