Meri Pehchan

•the goodbye•

Samra pressed the warm linen cloth on Fadahunsi's bruises. Most of them were small jagged cuts, skin deep with the flesh around them swelling up. The bleeding had stopped last night, the fever had broken this morning thanks to their doctor's tonic, the deep green that smelt so strongly of garlic she had to stop herself from breathing anytime she fed it to him. Their was no infection that would require amputation, and to his luck none of the swords that touch his skin were dipped in hemlock — unlike his commandants and soldiers. All night he had slipped in and out of consciousness, the pain had only taken over his senses after he met King Zaid.

Samra pressed her lips to his skin, the heat instantly burnt the skin of her lips but she stayed in position. Tears ran of from her cheeks to his tanned skin, soft snore escaping his parted lips. The tent's flap had been lowered to give them privacy and the sheepskin cover prevented light and prying eyes from falling inside. In the corners of the room, oil lamps burned brightly, his skin turning a bright orange the wounds a deeper red. She let her hands wander over his skin, pressing his abdominal muscles with great pain — so much pain her heart could not bead it.

Sobs wrecked through her body as she dragged the cloth across his chest, his body bare safe for the small muslin cloth that covered his loins. There was a thankfulness in her heart, that her husband had not been one of those men that had suffered gravely. These feelings of gratification were followed by immense guilt, for finding joy when many had been widowed. Every second that passed, his skin cooled and his heart beat steadied out. The thick sheets underneath his body had been pushed to one side, the covers thrown into a corner in the middle of the night.

Samra smeared honey onto a piece of bread, cooked on the coal stove that had been put together by the men a long time ago. She brought it to his lips, a copped cup full of cool water, drawn from the oasis near by. Calling his name softly, she clenched her teeth. Pain and fury coursed through her. Her mind ached and her heart had fallen to the pits of her stomach at the sight of casualties and her weak husband. She seethed, saw blistering red and had to fight the urge to kill her uncle — thoughts she thought she was not capable of.

"Fadahunsi?" She whispered.

Sweat trickled down her body, the bright sunlight baked her inside the thick walls of their makeshift abode. He had made sounds that resembled groans, the pain seared through his flesh. A stabbing pain inside his head, followed by the sensations of millions of pins pricking his skin. Shifting around on the thick mattress, he raised his head. His thick hair covered his eyes and with great difficulty he pushed the hair aside. His muscles ached, groaning as he moved.

"Let me help you," his wife whispered.

Placing the bread and water back into the copper tray, she used her upper strength to help him sit upright. Her taut breast pressed against the skin of his bicep. If it were any other moment, he would have melted at her touch, his muscles would have turned to nil and the bones to jelly. He wrapped his other hand around her small shoulders, seeking her support to sit up right. People would laugh, seeing such a small person help him.

"How are you?" She questioned.

Her hands pressed against his sweaty cheeks. Their eyes stared into each other's, hers full of worry and a sheen of tears, many of which had already dried themselves on the supple skin of her cheek. Her thumbs brushed his cheek and the small scar — whimpers escaped her plump lips. Fadhunsi felt the heavy tension inside the air, their breaths were saturated with unsaid words, words that would never materialize. Their was a longing in her touch, as if she could not believe he was here.

"I feel like dying," he spoke with great difficulty.

Samra ignored the careless remark, pressing the glass of water against his lips. He thanked her by softening his hard gaze, gulping the water like a mad man. Most of it dripped down his untamed beard, to his chest. Sighing in contentment, Fadhunsi closed his eyes. He could feel the water stream into his abdomen and veins. The strained vocal cords and throat that felt like sand had been rubbed against it, smoothed out. He breathed deeply, feeling some of the pain relive itself.