Reblogged at Freeing My Muse
She made her way to Camus and dropped her pack at his side. Lifting his coat she immediately saw that the blood from the wound no longer flowed freely. To his good fortune, it was only superficial. Quickly pulling the night dress she’d been given by the villagers from the pack, she tore a wide strip from the hem and bound up the wound while she and Camus warily watched the two swordsmen.
The young man was obviously a novice, but his stance and his chain mail coat said clearly he was ready to take on this challenge. His breeches, covered in the spirals that were symbolic of new ideas, ended just above his knee-high boots. His long black hair flowed around his face, his gaze intent and focused as if he were reasoning through what he must do, his intense expression made all the more strange by the kaleidoscope…
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