Prompt: “My sword is bright. My arm is strong. My grip is sure.” Written 11 November 2017 (like the last post, let me know what you think I could do to improve this post, as I might rewrite it in the future)
I stepped quietly into the tent, adjusting my armguard and watched as the soldier knelt, eyes closed with his sword in his hands.
“My sword is bright” he chanted. “My arm is strong. My grip is sure.” I leaned on a post and sighed loudly.
“And my patience with these pre-battle affirmations is wearing thin. Are we going to battle or not? The enemy does not wait.” I informed him.
“Are you so eager to ride into bloodshed?” he asked.
“Ride? I do not ride. I run headfirst, screaming and cursing, like a true mercenary.” he glared.
“Good men die on the battlefield, you blasphemous woman.” he growled.
“Good men die off the battlefield, you lumbering oaf. Daily.” I replied. “Now get ready to go, husband. I meant it when I said our dear friend will not wait.”
“The dear friend who wants to kill us, you mean.”
I grinned. “Yes, him. Now hurry up.”