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The pretty milk maid's smile cracked Sutra's hardened frown from the inside out.
She smiled cautiously before hauling the simple colored clay pot of spilling water off to her home somewhere in the gently rolling hills beyond the city walls.
He considered following the trail of parched earth turned to spotty mud.
A gentle cool breeze stoked cyclic warmth under the tattered cape he had pieced together from littered sackcloth. The sun and moisture seeped deep into the ripped fabric. His own flesh had taken a darker shade since the onset of the summer months.
His heart beat in thankful harmony with the pulse of mother.
He found a moments solace under the giving shade of a pear tree, not yet aged enough for cutting fruits; but whose limbs were weighed down with verdant foliage.
Inhaling deeply he stared over the dusty wall precipice he edged upon. The walls here were as ancient as the surrounding plains. It was the land of fabled dragons. Stories long past.
He focused on the war games in the main arenas. Men and women shielded in rusty armor marched in formations and broke off into simulated combat.
They prepared for their never ending war.
"Will they ever find the time to make peace...?" spoke a gentle voice.
Without hesitation, the brooding shade gripped the hilt of a dagger. She had come to visit him again. Was this another nightmare or intrusive vision, Sutra angrily puzzled.
"Maybe if they were given a chance to know what peace was...witch..." the crowned assassin replied.
He could feel her presence, close behind and to the left. She smelled of bittersweet roses. Of a bouquet that had lone withered away.
The kind you find in an abandoned cemetery.
"Actually sweet Sutra, I meant peace amongst their own..." her fingers reached out seemingly caressing the dirty fabric the king had donned as a simple disguise.
Stepping out of her reach, he focused on the rehearsed military movements just outside the walls.
"They will fight every wave bent on destroying this kingdom, just as they have done so with every passing moon before me." A satisfied scowl made it's home on the shaded face.
A girlish giggle erupted from the cloaked figure.
"The offer still stands dark one...it's not too late you know..." Her eyes read his aura with ease. He had learned much in the past six moons.
"Until then Sutra...may you find true solace...someday."
Sutra tilted his throbbing head to the right and smirked.
He remained motionless, under the giving shade of a pear tree, not yet aged enough for cutting fruits; but whose limbs were weighed down with verdant folliage.
S
[con't]
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The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu
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