| Thier Man |
The men in the dim lit room stood awkwardly. Each one unable to funnel words out of thier mouths. Each one stood in awe looking down at the corpse of thier leader. Slain by the unseen warriors, he lay face up and eyes open. His grey beard and grey eyes seemed to illuminate the room; reflecting the light shining through the cracks in the wall. The room was filled with the thick stench of sweat and urine. Twelve eyes fell upon the dead man in the middle of the circle of men. Six men, unable to speak, unable to look away and unsure of what to do, stood round the pale body glowing grey. They all had their swords pointed down, tips piercing the soil and hands on the butt of the handle, left hand on top of right. The mens hair and beards were ungroomed. Thier skin was dirty with sweat, dirt and sometimes blood. The men were dirty because they had no women around to keep them clean and in order. The room was so still it could have easily been painted by any artist. Finally, the man with the straight black beard came to life as he took a deep breath. He quickly made the sign of the cross across his chest. He then took a step fourth and kissed his palm before laying it gently on his dead leader's forehead. Moving his hand slowly down the face of the man in an effort to close the lifeless grey eyes, he closed his own and bowed his head. The other men in the room simutaneously crossed thier hearts and bowed their heads. When the dead man's eyes were closed, another man with a red tangled beard stepped foreward. He picked up the limp and heavy arms of the man and crossed them over his still chest. When that deed was done, the man with the straight black beard turned and headed out the door. Trailing him was the man with the red tangled beard. Soon after, the other men listlessly exited. |