MY WARRIOR
When I first came to my warrior, I was long past the days of my prime, no longer healthy or beautiful. My heart was as strong as ever, but, to many, that would have mattered not.
But my warrior, he had seen with different eyes. He had touched me with gentleness and love, and whispered to me how beautiful I was. Who among us would not love back one such as that?
And he was handsome, even then, though he still had the mantle of youth. Now, full grown to manhood, ah, he is a joy to behold and he pleasures my heart. Strong of spirit, straight as an oak tree, heart of a lion.
He gives me love.
Under his gentle ministrations, my health was restored and my beauty blossomed again. I know that covetous eyes often turn my way when I travel places with my warrior, but they mean nothing to me, for there are none there to match he who owns my heart.
He gives me respect.
Before, I had too often been used for drudgery, dismissed when the conflicts came. But my warrior, he freed the fighting spirit in me. And I go with him into battle, laugh with him at those we face, laugh with him in victory, grieve with him in defeat.
He gives me faith.
He would smile as he touched me, and tell me how wonderful I am. He believes that I can do wonders and because he believes, I do. There is no obstacle I cannot overcome, no bridge I cannot cross, no path I cannot traverse.
He gives me strength.
Though we often travel through darkness, I know no fear, for my warrior is there, standing against all like the lion he is. Fire and ice, blood and death. We face it all, side by side. While we may be overborne at times by greater numbers, we never run. He quails before no task, my warrior, and I cannot do less.
He gives me purpose.
A great, yet hidden, war is being fought. Until I met my warrior, I knew nothing of the terrible conflict. Even his kin before him, whom once I called master, did not share his confidences with me. But I know now, and never again will I be content be on the sidelines. Battle calls to me now; evildoers, beware. I will fight alongside my warrior until the last trumpet calls him.
And then I will follow.
There were kin to my warrior who traveled with us. Then, for a time, we went alone, he and I. And there was sadness in his heart, in a part that belonged not to me but to them, and which I could not ease.
But now, one has returned to travel with us and my warrior's heart smiles in a hidden corner. It is not his way to speak of it or make grand gestures. It shows in small, quiet things. But my warrior's kin is no fool and he understands.
I hear their tread now. I frown at my warrior's kin, who carries some form of their noxious fuel—how that can power them I do not understand—that threatens to overflow its container. I am not pleased at that.
Somehow, though, my warrior knows. He leans forward and touches me lightly and whispers to me.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. If Sam gets anything on you, I'll kick his butt from here to Kansas."
His kin glares at him, but my warrior just laughs, a free and wondrous sound.
I roar my engine in response.
And we race forward into battle yet again.