The Warrior and The Wind
He remembered her touch,
Gentle as a breeze on a summer's day.
It fooled him into thinking
It was not too hot to play.
She was not the problem.
She was the perfection others feared.
She was not the burning sun,
Bright and hot
Daring him to move closer.
She was the gentle suggestion.
-o0o-
She could no longer remember the smile he wore as armour.
No longer could she recall the wand he wielded like a sabre.
She would no more look into those eyes:
Grey that shone like steel in the light.
He was her knight and yet he could not save her.
-o0o-
When the thunder came, he was not there.
When the lightning struck, she was alone.
When the rain fell hard, her family came.
He was elsewhere.
She was the first to fall, her body giving at the knees first,
Crumbling into a pile of bones and skin,
A balled up piece of paper:
A half written poem.
He did not know.
The sky swam in shades of green and black,
Haunting, slithering above a quiet house.
News spread. Then he knew.
The thunder had been a storm that stole
The gentlest touch of the softest breath of the wind.
It left a knight without a kingdom.
Written for the Freeverse Challenge on HPFC. Prompts were: a pairing that shall remain unnamed, gentle, knight and thunder.