The porch of this rustic old house was huge. It was made of a smooth, rich mahogany. Polished mostly, except the years of people coming and going were clearly visible in the worn tracks littered over its surface. White-washed was the house, but everything else was all wood. Wooden shutters on the windows, a few wooden benches and other wooden bric-a-brac scattered around its wide, sweeping porch. It should have made it look shabby, but it didn't. It suited the place. The large white manor sat perched on top of a gently sloping hill. The soft grasses of the hill gave way to a clearing at the bottom, where it met the thick, dark woods. The woods were a beautiful, yet eerie place. Always still, always silent, until the wind blew, whistling through the branches and whisking pretty coloured leaves up into colourful spires that reached for the clouds, free for a moment, only to float back down to earth, pretty and fragile once more.
Alexa was alone on the porch, her fingers absently tracing some shallow marks in the wooden railing. Perhaps wood worms had burrowed their way through the tree that was used to make this railing, but this piece had been sanded down so that only a few shallow trenches remained. She scratched at the grooves absently, but her gaze never wavered. Sitting, all alone in the field, was Raius. Her eyes bored holes into his back, as if trying to see through the flesh and bone and into his soul. He hadn't moved an inch, and he hadn't made a sound the entire time she had been standing here.
The dark tendrils of her hair played over her face and twirled into the air, lifted, pushed and played with by the fingers of a soft breeze that wound its way through the woods, pushing itself forward across the porch and into the field, the grass blowing slightly flat where the wind's footsteps trod. Raius still didn't move. Alexa sighed, a horrible wrenching sensation tugged at her stomach and at her heart. Though the place is so beautiful, there is a certain sense of melancholy, nay, grief and sorrow that hangs over the entire scene at this point. The same sensation weighs heavily on her soul, twisting and turning it so that she felt ill. Alexa blinked a few times, wiped insistently at her eyes, attempting to stop the tears. It worked, but only for a moment. Though her gaze has never left Raius' back, for a moment, she wasn't looking. When her eyes focused again, Alex felt a surge of mixed emotions rush through her. A tear finally escaped her eye, as she stared at the man that she was so fond of, and her heart broke at the memory of all of the pain and loss that he has had to endure since he has come to Tareed. Though he would not speak of it, it was clear to feel the air of anger and sadness that he carried about him, no matter how he tried to suppress it.
She reached up and flicked the lone, betraying tear away, and sniffed, absently fiddling with her cape, still watching Raius.
A door opens behind Alexa, and she is suddenly brought back to reality, hard. She sniffs and fights to settle her face into a neutral look of serene composure and seriousness, and when she felt her face looked thus, she shot a quick glance of her shoulder.
It was Yaiger, and he was horribly wounded.
His left arm was wrapped tightly and held against his chest by a soft, white sling. The same shoulder was wrapped up well, too, but it hadn't managed to stop the bleeding completely. Blood had seeped through the gauze and was staining the wrapping, a sharp contrast of red on white. It would have been pretty, had it not been blood. He was leaning to the right, putting all of his weight on the crutch that sat tucked beneath his right armpit. He was using the crutch to take the weight off his injured right leg, but it still looked uncomfortable and painful. It was strapped tightly to a splint, and more blood was seeping through the soft white gauze.
His long black hair is sweaty and messed around from a tough healing process, and it's also the hottest time of the year. He is pale from blood loss, and generally looks to be moments away from his grave. His black pants are sticking to his legs, one leg rolled up because it couldn't fit over the splint and the bandages. His feet are bare and a tad dirty. They even had a bit of blood on them.
Alexa's gaze once again returns to the silent and still Raius in the field. She felt Yaiger step up to one side of her, slightly at her back, but he said nothing.
After a few moments, she trusted herself enough to speak without sobbing. "How's he doing?" she asks him. She pressed her lips tightly together. Her voice, even to her own ears, sounded so heavy, so worn and so sorrowful. She felt like she was going to cry again.
Yaiger doesn't answer for some time. She couldn't be sure, but if she had a look at his face, she was sure he would be fighting back tears, if not crying. "He is strong," he finally says. "He will not leave us with out a fight." Silence for a few moments more. "He is in good hands," Yaiger finishes lamely, desperately trying to believe his own words.
Alexa tried to give him a smile, but it didn't come. She knew he didn't believe what he was saying. She knew he was lying. She took a deep, slow breath, and some of the sadness she has been feeling exhales with that breath, but frustration begins to creep in to fill the gaps. "I just don't know what to do anymore Yaiger. This war will see us all in our graves." She stopped speaking suddenly, trying to quell the waves of emotion welling up within her.
She felt Yaiger turn beside her, facing her now, preparing to go back into the house. Alex gets the feeling that he is trying to say something, anything, but the words simply evade him and he returns back into the house, leaving a heavy sigh in his wake. Alexa sighed also. Yaiger knew what she was saying was right. They would all be dead long before this war was over.
Her eyes have never left the still and silent form of Raius in the field.
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