Disclaimer: I don't own these characters… I only play with them when I'm bored!
Warning: Poorly written… It's 2:45 in the morning and I'm suffering from a terrible case of insomnia. :Sigh: You've been forewarned!
Out, Out
He had to wonder, as he sat there idle in his tent, exactly how short life really was. True, he was young, but he lead a life filled with danger- one that could be cut down at any moment on the field by the nameless agents of his enemy, or slain even by the familiar hand of a foe closer to his heart. Outside, the rain pelted against his tent, shaking the water resistant fabric. Raven's shelter shook as the wind tried to pull it from its stakes. The small candle the mercenary set up flickered as the storm cut through the material and pulled at it.
Life was brief; there was no doubt. His parents and house were cut down in their prime. The carcasses of buildings stained black against the red sky were etched into his eyes when he closed them at night. Screams echoed, becoming stronger with each reverberation. His mind ran over those events and each day his memory adding more details to the portrait. Where there were once holes, his imagination filled in false memories- the look of his mother's face, the smell of sulfur as it burnt his throat, the sharp cracking of wooden supports as fire licked at their frame. Life was laconic.
The soft knock of his tent walls almost went unnoticed in the weather and soon the flaps were thrown open as the outsider dove inside to seek shelter from the rain. The candle flame flickered at the damp intruder. Eliwood closed the tent flaps as tightly as he could, shivering despite his best efforts to stay his discomfort.
"I'm sorry for just barging in, Raven." The lord yelled above the rain's persistent tempo. "I know, you probably want to be alone."
Raven cast the man a quick look, but the fire drew his eyes back to it. Now protected by the thin flap of cloth, the tiny red heart pulsed healthy on its pillar of soft white bone.
Eliwood continued on, placing a damp hand on Raven's shoulder. "I understand what you must be going through. It's a hard thing, to have to let go. I went through it myself."
Again, the lord was greeted by silence.
"He was a good man, Raven. And he did what he felt he had to. Lucius wouldn't want you to grieve for him." Eliwood gave the shoulder another squeeze and then began to undo the flaps of the tent again. The wind licked at the opening, taking the opportunity to grasp at the loose material and tug at it ruthlessly. "I'm here to talk, if you need it." His words gone, Eliwood quickly dashed out of the tent, trying his best to seal up the barrier before running on his way.
Wind sliced through a small opening in the frail barricade, and it's fingers seized the pulsing life before it, distorting it and pulling the flame long. With a brutal squeeze, it ended the poor creature's struggle, strangling it between its fingers. Raven turned from the dead white body and tugged the flaps more secure, before laying back on his bedroll. The wind howled in laughter outside his tent as the rain beat the ground around him, soaking into everything.
Life was short, cruelly so, Lucius used to say. It was a precious coin not to be spent on lavish things like revenge.
"Out, out, brief candle." Raven's voice was a soft hum under the pounding rain. "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more."
The wind carried away his words.
Shakespeare's Macbeth Act V Scene V