Saxon Story #6
–When last we saw Breya and the housecarl, they were watching the North of England being consumed by Norman fire-
It was the darkest hour of the night, when the stars seemed to be drawing ever further away into the black void of the nocturnal sky. Breya was tired to the very marrow of her bones, but she could not sleep.
Her eyes were open wide, taking in the orange hue which still stained the horizon. Fires burned on across the landscape, but the swirling dance of their embers no longer held any magic for her.
Instead, her mind turned to the future which now lay like the blank pages of an unwritten manuscript before her. She was free to make any choice she wished, lead any life she fancied and have whatever she desired.
Rumbling snores rose from beneath the thick bristles of the housecarl’s beard. It would have been an easy thing to slip a knife between his ribs while he slept. But Breya did not know that she wanted him dead.
The whole world had been purged by fire and she was being born into a new kingdom. Was the fierce warrior lying beside her what she wanted, she wondered. Did the firelight tint his brow in red as a warning or to beckon her closer?
She leaned towards him, staring at the closed lids of his eyes as though trying to see past them. If she could look into his eyes, and really look, she might be able to see something of his soul. Was the man behind the sword, the armor and the vulgar tongue a good man?
Something pulled Breya back from the wandering path her mind had taken. A midnight-black eye stared back at her.
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