The paint of war is barely dry on my skin. The weight of the
ancient blade hangs heavy at my side as I grasp my shield close to me. On the
field of battle it is my only defence and on the blood-soaked field I am the
defence of my lady’s honour. My eyes flare with the courage of the warrior
called to duty, a courage that hides the fear in my belly. And my heart asks
that question – am I prepared to die? I look once more upon her tearstained
cheeks and kiss her extended hand. For my lady’s favour my life is no great
sacrifice.
© J Farmer 2013
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