CLOTH-
Relaxation was a word Fakir had nearly forgotten since the start of the war. No one relaxed; one either fought or tended to the wounded, and the kingdom's Princess was no exception despite her parents' wishes. The young red-headed Princess helped where she could, bandaging and administering medicine and spreading hope.
So on a beautiful, sun shining day, with the war at a brief standstill, she had insisted they sneak out of the castle to a nearby hill to enjoy it. Fakir was happy to see her joyous, so he relented to her request. Watching his Princess move about under the sun, the meadow on the hill surrounding her and the breeze catching her hair and dress, billowing the cloth about her ankles, he felt a sense of peace he hadn't since the war had begun. The scene really exposed how truly beautiful she was in appearance. His mind briefly flashed to the way she helped gently wrap cloth bandages around wounds. She was beautiful, inside and out, and he was proud, honored to have ever fallen in love with her.
Laughing innocently, she reached her hands out in invitation, asking him to join her frolicking about in the meadows. The half-smile as he reached for her was cut short as her expression changed from serene to panic. His name fell from her lips in a shrill scream of fear.
"Fakir!" He acknowledged she had said something else, but his senses dulled.
His eyes were wide in shock. Bringing his hand up to his left side, below his third rib, he was confused to see blood. Again he looked up, his eyes registering the billowing fabric of her dress as she ran towards him, tears in her eyes.
Then his world went black.
He would wake hours later. His torso covered in bandages, her exhausted and bloody form sitting next to his head with her upper body resting on the bed. It took him only a minute to realize the cloth covering his wound was the tattered remains of her dress.