Hawks and Eagles

Ruffled Feathers

Once the sun was absent from the sky, the air became a harsh chill that brittled bones. You weren't sure if it was just incredibly cold or if the absence of constant heat made it appear colder than it should have been. Your head began to fall, your body swaying as the grasp of exhaustion finally took its firm hold on you. If you didn't stop soon, you would fall out of the saddle and onto the ground. When was the last time you truly slept? A week.... But it felt like months.

"We need to set up camp," you told him, beginning the difficult task of unmounting your horse while it was moving. "Get a warm fire going..."

Altaïr pulled the reins of his mount, turning the large creature until he could face you. "We should keep riding." Typical of him, his countenance never wavering from harshly emotionless.

"I'm camping for the night." You walked off, searching the area for anything to burn, dried grasses and dead sticks. Everything even the sand appeared to be scorched by the sun and thirsty for even a drop of rain.

"Masyaf is just another day's ride." Agile and graceful, he leapt from the horse, leading them towards an old cedar tree, weathered by the winds and sand. He tied their reins firmly onto its twisting trunk, unbuckled their thin saddles.

You rolled your eyes, your hood thankfully obscuring the action. You dropped the last of your extra firewood nearby, to keep the fire going throughout the night. "You are still healing and I need some proper sleep." You tried to start a spark, to kindle any amount of flame on the sun-scorched grasses. A small ember flickered, lapping across the grass and licking the bone-dry wood.

Altaïr tossed down the saddle blankets, dust and dirt swirling from them. He gave a haughty huff as he sat down, leaning back onto his hands, the growing fire casting light upon him, setting his white robes into a soft orange hue. "I can hardly feel it anymore. We only stopped because you can't handle the ride."

Your lips thinned into a bitter scowl, sarcasm flitting off your tongue, "Ah, yes. The Master Assassin. I keep forgetting how grand and marvelous you truly are." He was the reason you were so exhausted in the first place...

Beneath his hood you could see none of his expression. Only the minor curve of his lips, only their thickness. "Do not forget that I am greater than you in both skill and title. In Masyaf you will be no more than a Novice, a foolish child stripped of her rank." He threw a cocky grin your way and not even the shadow of his cowl could hide it. "Get used to referring to me as your master. You will be below me."

Your fists clenched but you forced your fingers to straighten, to smooth away any burning anger that flared. You wanted to throttle him, more than you'd ever wanted anything. Altaïr knew just how to push your buttons, to make you grit your teeth and seethe. In fact, you were beginning to think he did it for fun. "God, you are an arrogant ass." You turned to walk away, to find anything around the campfire to keep your attention, to be far away from Altaïr as possible.

"One you find attractive."

You barked a laugh, spinning on your heel to stare at him. "I do not," you lied, skillful enough to make it sound believable even to your own ears, desperate not to glance over his body and prove him right.

"I have seen you admire my form more than once." The corner of his lip curled, his chin tilting upwards to get a better view of your figure, the light of the fire shimmering across his golden brown eyes. "There is no need to hide it. I am an attractive man. Be pleased that I even noticed."

That was it! That was the last straw. You couldn't stop yourself this time. You were furious, angry, a scalding rage that spilled over. You leapt forward, snagging hold of the robes around his neck and threw him into the ground. You swung a hard punch against his mouth, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth and your knuckle, another punch quickly behind it neearly landing into his jaw. But Altaïr snatched your wrist, his entire weight throwing you onto your back, his body pinning you into the sand, your fist forced down onto the earth. He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, savoring the taste of his blood that dappled the split skin, distracting your eyes with the slow movement. Damn those lips of his.