Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 10

Day 131

Ofelia sat alone as the men started to raid the village, their happy hollers and laughter reaching her ears from their position two hills away. It had probably been thirty minutes since they'd attacked, and the sky still held some pink and purple hues, the clouds glowing warm yellow. Soon the familiar smell of smoke would darken the sky as the village was set alight and Ofelia would return to the bags over the hill. But, until then, Ofelia would stare out as the morning dew flowed across the land, watching as the sun hovered a little distance over the top of the white crusted valley. Memories from both where she looked and where she faced away from came to mind and she mindlessly wiped her clean hands on the frosted grass. It was quite a way to spend her morning, and she was glad that no one sat with her for those moments. She didn't want to think, and she didn't want to talk. She didn't even want to know that there was a person beside her, even when she heard the distant sound of his steed before the familiar clink of his sabatons finishing the distance.

He wearily sighed as he arrived and stopped just shy of Ofelia. She kept her mouth shut.
Knightley was silent. For being encased in a metal body, he was surprisingly stealthy and light-footed. Ofelia guessed that he stared out to the sunset from behind her, as she did. She didn't want to look away, if she did, she'd be brought back down to the soil, having to spar with her emotions, and toil with her thoughts. She had experienced a moment of peace, a moment of natural silence, and with Knightley's arrival it had been shattered. She sighed and turned her face to the side, showing him that she was at his attention.
He held his words as he drew a step closer and unexpectedly lowered himself to the ground. Ofelia chewed her cheek and tapped a finger to her knee.
Both stared out across the land, the dwindling forest and shifting landscape beyond it. He cleared his throat.
"Some chief.", He huffed, fiddling with something in his armoured fingers.
Ofelia clenched her jaw.
Some chief? She rolled her eyes, "... Thanks."
That little perk rose on Knightley's lip and Ofelia's face flattened.
She didn't have much to say to him. Sure, like always she had her questions, but he always found a way that answered them so bluntly that it only rose more in their wake.
In silence they sat together, Ofelia wrapped herself up in a bundle whilst Knightley stretched himself out along the ground. He mindlessly picked at the grass, the slight grind of his metal fingers pricking the air.
"It is better to attack at dawn.", Knightley ominously started, his eyes far off as he calmly spoke, "Under my previous commander we used to start at dusk, but to me it held an unbalanced store of disadvantages."
Ofelia's eyes fell to him as she laid the side of her face on her arm. Her gut churned when he spoke, but she listened, nevertheless. Rarely did he spare her a word beyond criticism.
"Men are tired by dusk, they can't see, and they brawl afterwards,", he reasoned, as if he'd explained it before to a much more important person, "Darkness often festers irrational anger."
He dropped his grass and spared Ofelia a careless, fleeting look, waiting for a response. Ofelia studied his face. He was unusual. Ofelia still hadn't figured whether he was a man born of the 'irrational anger' that he spoke of, or excessively calculating, cold and particular. He was so incredibly harsh to her, it was clear he viewed her life as passive, yet he spent hours bettering her every day. She wasn't sure why he'd told her his story, but she was glad he did. He was unpredictable, in a horrible way, in a way that made her nervous, but he was strangely intriguing because of it.
"What are your thoughts?", he asked, breaking the silence.
Ofelia quietly chuffed, lowering her eyes to his hands, "... That you must love war.", she proposed, her eyes lingering on his protruded metal knuckles.
Knightley didn't smile, he stared at her for a moment as if thinking himself through his words. Ofelia lifted her eyes to his. Knightley tapped his finger on his stomach, before thoughtfully frowning. "... In a strange way, you're correct.", He muttered.
Ofelia hadn't anticipated what his response was going to be, nor guessed at her retaliation. Really, she didn't know a thing about Knightley, only that now his voice sounded sad. How was she to know what to expect? It was impossible with Knightley.
"Do you feel bad about it?"
"No."
Ofelia turned her face from him, back to the landscape.
"You are no better than me, girl,", Knightley said, turning to the landscape a second after, "Have you not yearned to kill me? Do you not yearn to swing your sword against mine, hungering to learn the art yourself?"
Ofelia was silent for a moment. His words echoing in her mind.
"You have killed men as I have killed men. Fathers included."
Ofelia's heart stopped in her throat.
Was she as bad as him?
She frowned and began to rise, picking up her oversized armour as she did. She looked at him again, his calm composure dissipating. Wiping her hands on her frock, she clearly addressed his accusation, "I have learnt what I've learnt out of defence, out of necessity.", she clarified, irritation bubbling in her stomach, "You have attacked me in every sense of the word."

-

Ofelia didn't have a horse, that fact was becoming ever more apparent as the leather armour weighed her down as she walked. It was then that the doubts of its use troubled her. Really, what purpose did leather armour serve? It was nothing compared to the sparkling metal armour of the moon soldier and his men, and really with the right strike, a sword would flow through it like a leaf through water. It didn't seem worth the price of carrying it, what use was armour when she would be too tired to fight at the end of it?
She clenched her jaw and fought those thoughts away.
It was fifty-two days until the official end of the cold season, though apparently the cold tended to linger a little longer than the heat in this northern part of the continent. Ofelia had no clue how far she was from home, the routes that Knightley had led had been in pursuit of villages, and whether those were in circles, zig zags, or swirls, Ofelia hadn't quite figured out yet. She did figure though that she wouldn't be the one to ask when their campaign ended, it would remain unspoken of as if not to ignite Knightley's thoughts regarding their supposed betrothal. She hoped he'd forgotten or reconsidered as his actions towards her had seemed to lead on.
Ofelia's back grew tense, and she gulped.
Again they raided, a day after the first, and two days after that. Ofelia found herself enduring a different reaction to Knightley's men. At the end of each fight, Knightley's men shook with anger, adrenaline coursing through their veins whilst Ofelia found herself absorbed in the sudden silence, before disappearing into the silence of someone's home.
Through the weeks, as Ofelia grew stronger and better able to bear her armour, she also traded her old boots for new, her dishevelled frock for a gown, her bare wrists for bangles. Things no young girl could resist, no matter how conflicted.

Down, across, in. Down, across, in. Down, across, in.
"Come on ol' girl, where's your strength?", Knightley sniggered, deflecting a blow.
Ofelia frowned. He was the one that wanted to play gentle repetition. She rolled her eyes before advancing on him and throwing her sword down with all her strength.
Knightley grinned from behind his sword and Ofelia released him from her hold.
Ofelia sighed, blowing that pesky lock of hair out of her face, holding his eye before running back in. Down, across, in. Down, across, in.
Suddenly, Knightley puffed a breath and suddenly shot out a kick, sending Ofelia sprawling. She coughed at the ground, holding her stomach before furiously glaring at Knightley, "What was that for?!", she spluttered.
"Stage two.", Knightley arrogantly chimed, readying his sword, "Now for the unexpected."
She was doing well, Ofelia noted. She coughed again and held her stomach as she rose. What an imbecile! He was so- Ugh! What a- Argh! She shook her head, but against her will, despite tightening her lips, she frustratedly grinned, "... You're an insolent man."
He chuckled, eyeing her like a cat to mouse, "And you're an insolent wife."
Instantly the grin dropped from Ofelia's face, and she lowered her sword. She held his mischievous eye, "I'm not marrying you."
Knightley's lips perked, and he tilted his head, squinting at her, "And why not?"
Ofelia dropped her sword and incredulously stared at him, "Why not?", She huffed, "Why not?"
Knightley waited for her response.
Ofelia threw her hands up before cocking them on her hips. She leaned her face toward him, "You killed my father! That's why not."
Knightley clicked his tongue, swaying his head side to side, "Yes... But it was for the benefit, no?"
Ofelia's heart shrivelled in her chest and her tongue dried. For the best?
Knightley grinned a little wider, "You are well on your way to becoming a warrior, you have travelled half the continent, you're stronger than ever...", He then paused as his eyes slid to her waist, her legs, then back up to her decolletage. The entire action beyond degrading. He finished, looking up at her with heavy eyes, "... You even have a new gown."
She stood astonished. What word could she say to such an action? She gaped at him.
He triumphantly chuckled, before readying his sword. Ofelia shook her head before mindlessly reaching for her sword again. Never had she ever had a man look at her that way, not in all her life.