On The Edge of the Sword

Measures Fifty-three-Seventy-three

Crawling towards her, he noticed the heavy bruising and lacerations. First, he checked for if she was still breathing. 

It was an unclear yes.

She was so broken and so brutally mangled, that tears began scrolling down his rough cheeks.

Ignorant of his own wounds, he crawled ever closer. He was uncertain at first, but he knew that she needed comforting. 

Even if he was a stranger or not. 

Hushed, he gently stroked his fingers through her hair. Brushing away the tangles, the leaves, and the dirt.

After a while, she moaned a soft wail of agony, then spun towards him.

Eyes bloodshot and pleading, she asked "Why are you h-here?". Instantly, she began to sob as she almost threw herself at him. 

Ready to attack if necessary.

"I'm here to help you." He gave with a sure nod.

"Oh, really?" she asked with poison on her tongue. 

Neither did she believe him nor trust him in the slightest.

"Yes," he gave it back firm and steely, "I am here to rescue you. If you will just let me help you."

She gazed at his attire and his own wounds. Maybe he was here to help her.

"No, that's not possible. Your kind doesn't help anybody. All they do is torture, kill, and destroy everything." she covered her face with her hands in another long wailing sob.

"I promise you," he hesitantly seized one of her clammy hands, "I am here to take you away from this accursed place."

Beaming, he rubbed an escaping tear from her cheek.

In return, she attempted to mirror his smile and gaze. 

Glad that someone was here for her.

Yet she failed just a bit at making her whole face light up like his. 

She still didn't wholly trust him. 

Not yet.

Honestly, who would have thought that after such a long time, I would still laugh at my own story telling?

I mean, this is a really odd story when I look back on it now.

fakjfibkvakjebkajydskjbsn, because gibberish is the best way to say goodbye.

nksjhdlsknvlsdugjmv ,jdhg