Crimson Ice
The battle for Jehanna had been long and tiring. The Renais army rested that night on the edge of the dunes with various fires lighting the camp. Around one fire, Forde amused girls of the Frelian Pegasus knights with fabricated stories of his adventures. Around another, Princess Eirika tried to catch Seth's eye as Ephraim and Innes argued about strategy. On the edge of camp, away from the noise and warmth of the fires, Marisa sat and quietly cleaned her blade. Rag at the hilt, slide it down the blade. Again. And again. And again. It would need to be ready. Later that week they would attack Castle Renais.
Joshua walked up behind her. Marisa did not stop cleaning her blade or look at him. "Marisa."
She did not acknowledge him.
"Marisa," he repeated. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. "Why are you all the way out here?"
"Quieter."
"Well, um... Don't stay out here too long. Everyone will need to be in top condition when we attack Renais Castle."
Marisa said nothing and turned her attention back to cleaning her blade. Sensing he would get no further with her, Joshua turned and walked silently back to camp, leaving Marisa to herself. Rag at the hilt, slide it down the blade. Again. And again. And again. It was a meditative process. Somehow though... this meditation did nothing to relax her.
Blood flew through the open air, her blade moving as a part of her. Marisa, once again, earned her name amidst a gruesome ballet of blades. The Crimson Flash. She knew the dance of battle better than anyone else. She was on top, the King of the battlefield. Her allies stayed forever in awe of her. Her enemies never moved again.
And yet, for all the hot blood coursing through her body, and the sweat dripping off her arms, and the excitement brought by the heat of battle, and the sun beating down upon her outside Castle Renais... Marisa was still cold.