Hawk eyes
Blood.Sweat.Gore.
The noise of battle surrounds me in an almost comforting embrace.The taste of metallic blood fills my my mouth as I cut through Saxon after Saxon in a never ending dance of blades: thrust, parry, jab.
This, ruthless killing was what had set me apart from the other knights, this was what they could not understand; how I could kill with such a coldness, not feel a thing when hacking into enemy after enemy. Maybe I should have got to know them better in the fifteen years I have spent with them instead of being an outsider, the lone scout.However those chances have passed me by and all I can do now is hope to survive this battle, or die an honourable death fighting.
I face up to the leader of the Saxons, I can tell from his important bearing and the way his bodyguard rushes to defend him, bringing up my blade in readiness to fight and the endless dance begins again, slash, parry, spin, thrust. He catches me with a blow to my side knocking me down, suprisingly he does not kill me straight away, a gesture of respect. I stumble to my feet before attacking again, I will not give up without a fight.
A sharp stabbing pain in my sword arm knocks my sword away and I know I will not be able to handle it again with any great skill, I get ready to pull out one of my throwing knifes hidden in my armour, when again the my enemy surprises me by kicking my sword back to me. I tuck my throwing knife back into my armour, I too have respect and honour.
I attempted a weak thrust already knowing it will be parried and again I am struck, I try to imagine how pathetic I must look crawling along the ground in a vain attempt to get away.Vaguely I see the Saxon picking up my sword and thrusting his own into the ground. Ironic. I think, countless many have died by my sword and now I am to die by it as well. Mayhap he thinks he is insulting me by killing me with it, in truth I find it an honour, it is a beautiful blade.
I see a glimpse of the battlefield before I feel the grip on my hair and the excruciating pain in my stomach. My senses dim as pain races through my body and mind, my vision clouds over and the sounds of the battle turn to but faint murmurings in my ears. But through the mist and haze I see my hawk flying over the battlefield and this gives me some measure of comfort along with the fact I had come to this battle as a free man and as a free man I would die. My vision clouds furthur and my last thoughts are of home and the green grasses and endless expanses of blue sky that I will never see again.
They say that fallen knights return as great horses so maybe I will see home again.