Desertation

A dirt road at dusk, the dark pines standing sentinel on either side, bowing gently in the wind. The moon is half shadowed, soft grey clouds glide across the sky. A carriage rolls down the road, gleaming dimly in the fading light. The horses are sleek and well groomed, but if one looked closely they were common mounts. The carriage itself was finely crafted, polished and rubbed till it shined. It was a nobleman's carriage, in appearance if not in ownership. But appearence was all that mattered.

Inside the carriage the appearence of nobility continued. A man and woman rode in silence. He is tall, his black hair held back in a tail. He wears a doublet of velvet and trousers of finest leather. His eyes are almonds, and they appraise the woman sitting across from him on the satin cusions. She is tall as well, her skin ivory, her hair spun gold, her eyes saphires. She is distracted as she pulls back the window-curtain and watches the scenery.

"Where are we, my lord?" She asks, her tone bland. She has only recently come forth from her chambers, let alone her manse. Her breast still aches, from a wound not fully healed. She fears it will never truly heal, but does her best to push the pain from her mind.

"The moors, my lady. Are they not beautiful?" He asks, leaning forward. He moves from his seat to the one next to here. He leans to look out her window, and places a hand on her shoulder. She tenses, and he smiles softly. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing my lord." She says, her face a mask. "A passing pain." She has no desire to explain, not to him. He is simply a nobleman she met in a tavern, who had kind words and gentle eyes. And she, still aching, could not resist.

"Let me make it better." He says, lowering his lips to her neck. She holds her head high, allowing him to carress her. She does not aide him, but does not push him away. His hands bury themselves in her hair and his mouth seeks out hers. She parts her lips, allowing him access. He is gentle and tender, and his hands pay homage to her body. They slide over the silk of her gown, to the silk of her skin. She can do nothing but respond. His lips slide across the jagged rip in her skin, and he kisses it gently. His eyes look to hers, and there is no judgement there, no questioning. She shudders, closing her eyes to it all.

She has denied herself too long. She has secluded herself in her chambers, mourning for something never truly alive. And someone undeserving of her tears. She has been dead to the world, but now she allows herself to live. She lays back upon the seats for her tavern noble, and he worships her with his body, crying out her name in the final moments.

He rolls away, a fine sheen of sweat covering his body. He smiles at her, caressing her cheek softly. She returns the smile, hesitantly, and kisses his fingers. She pulls her gown up, adjusting it around her body. He sits, and pulls a chord on the side of teh carriage, It rattles to a halt.

"Thank you, my lady." He says, opening the door. She looks at him questioningly, clutching her gown to her breasts. "I trust you can find your way home." He holds the door open, his eyes suddenly cold. His look grows impatiant, and swallowing hard, she stands. Her legs are weak as she stumbles out onto the road. As soon as she is out, the door slams shut and the horses rear, thundering away into the night that had fallen.

Beauty stands, her gown bunched about her thighs and held tightly to her chest. Her golden hair tumbles freely down her back, and her eyes are as cold as the unfeeling stars above. She straitens her gown, but leaves her hair free to cascade about her. The wind plays with it, teasing t and tousling it. She cannot think, cannot feel. Again she has been betrayed. Left alone on a strange road at night, she must find her way home. And she will, for she is a survivor. She has suffered before, and the pain in her feet will be nothing to the pain in her heart. Holding herself proud, she begins the long trek home.