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la chevalière
The dreams that she remembers are mostly of inane, nonsensical things - of those that reflect moments of life as it should be, her favourite is this:
The sun heats the colour of the cloth on her back as she stands before him, sitting. He marks his place on the book with his hand and turns his gaze on her instead. Touching his face now, sword calluses against the softer skin... she runs her fingers over his cheek, and further, into his pale hair.
Light ripples gently with the movement. He closes his eyes, just for a moment.
[I want to feel that we are one
share our lives as we do the sun]
The sun heats the colour of the cloth on her back as she stands before him, sitting. He marks his place on the book with his hand and turns his gaze on her instead. Touching his face now, sword calluses against the softer skin... she runs her fingers over his cheek, and further, into his pale hair.
Light ripples gently with the movement. He closes his eyes, just for a moment.
[I want to feel that we are one
share our lives as we do the sun]