One For Sorrow - Benjicot Blackwood

10- The Silence of Morning

Near the encampment, Blackwood ties the horses to their post and unsaddles them- these beasts, slight as the moon, charge toward the stables the moment they have been freed of their reins. It is simple to train a creature where home lies, feed it, brush it, and send it into the unknown with the instinctual knowledge that once it makes its way back, there will be more doting and brushing. I feel like an animal as I watch them break through the tree line, pausing at the threshold of the camp to pick grass before carrying on. There aren't many differences between them and me.

I stay where the food and beds are. I bring death when it is expected of me. Nobody pats my neck when I have done a notable job, but at least I am not used for dragon fodder.

Blackwood, too, is an animal. The evidence of that is on his blood-stained shirt that he rips off along with the trousers and tucks them below a stump. I try not to look as he moves, fully bare, into the shallow of the river to wash the stains away, but each time I turn my head, I find my attention snapped back to the rivets of his spine, the muscle of his pale shoulder blades sinking into the waters, hair plastered over his forehead. He dips his head below the surface until I am sparked to dive toward him for fear that he has been carried away by the current. He rises before I move, for this creature is born of the river. She holds him safely.

My stomach drops as cold water slips down my face to remove the carnage Blackwood's hands have left staining my cheeks. The rest of me is untainted, as I so specifically assured him. I am more confused than disheveled, more startled by my sudden need to ensure that he is not ripped from life by the god of war that lives in this river, shaken by an understanding that I am more at ease in his company than without it. This is friendship, I suppose, an encompassing trial of ensuring that those around me stay in my proximity as the moment they disappear, I am sure they will be gone forever.

Blackwood turns to face me, his nose illuminated by the stars that trace freckles down his flesh. I don't hide my stare. He is beautiful in a way that makes me feel sick. But more so, he is sturdy in a sense that makes him appear like a branch to grasp onto. The sense that I am often in more danger in his company than alone prevails, yet I believe this is the reason I want to rip his flesh open, crawl into his body, and nestle myself deep into his ribcage.

I have found that one can try to leave one's life behind, as I have done with the Rook and the horrors there. But everywhere I go, I bring myself with me. As well as a gnawing and intangible need to surround myself with chaos to feel any sense of security.

It makes me hate him.
Mayhaps camaraderie is hate wrapped in a prettier color of silk. I wouldn't know the difference.

"Don't tell anyone of what we have done," he says, leaving the water and wrapping his frame in the cloak.

"I was not planning to," I assure, scrubbing my face until the touch of his hands no longer lingers. "What now? The lord is dead, but they will appoint Aeron."