I dreamt of us.
I stood before him.
He sat on the mountain of fresh corpses.
He extended his arm and hand,
Beckoning me forwards
When I awoke I first saw a bird -a hooded pitta- that poked at my shoulder. I almost swiped it away, and then I noticed the various seeds on my skin, so I remained still.
"It's about time you've woken up." The same, brute, voice spoke, though in a much low tuned and mellow tone. He sat against the wall, a few feet away from me; his body is thoroughly bandaged. We were not in the wild anymore. We laid motionless in a large room, with symmetrical walls, on plush futons.
My hand felt for my sword. My eyes searched for it and spot it against the wall too, right beside him.
His hair is odd-spiked ebony locks with little gold bells on each tip. One eye is covered by an eye patch; it was not there before. A scar travels from his hairline, over his left eye, down to his sharp jawline. His golden beige skin is highlighted by the sun's light that pours in from an open door. His entire torso is uncovered.
And I had never seen a form oozing with such dominance and elegance.
"Why am I alive?" I questioned, and the small hooded pitta flew away.