Nevermore

Chapter Six - Temperatures Rising

        The scorching heat of the sunlight entered the tent and blinded Narissa's eyes until she finally awoke. Realizing the sudden joy of the moment, she saw herself still innocent--untouched, unmoved, unscorned. Narissa sighed in vexation and whispered a prayer of gratitude. It was a blessed feat, though how long would it continue, she did not know. All that matters now was her safety, though still limited.

        But she felt no presence within the vicinity except hers alone. She looked over to the large bed and saw it emptied out, perhaps earlier before. The blankets of fur were thrown aside carelessly and all the headrests were on the floor, as though the general had some invisible opponent wrestled last night.

        Perhaps he had invited someone other than me last night to keep him company, thought Narissa in passing, for she had smelled something very irresistable, hovering over the tent's athmosphere. The smell of freshly baked bread, of cheese and of grapes. She stood up to find where it was held, but was unable to, realizing for the first time that she had been bound by unforgiving ropes.

        She wriggled and writhed to her dissapointment, feeling the soreness of her entire back, reminiscing on the fact that she had slept on the most uncomfortable position someone sane would never attempt to copy. But to lack of strength, and to the parchness of her dry throat, Narissa unwillingly let the uneaseness of the moment take place, letting her brains rack like a buzzing bee upon her discomfort.

        And then, thanking the Lord, she saw an opportunity. Just within arms length of her left side, stood the general's armor and sword, displayed on a pole. If she could only reach--to just touch the helm of the sword--she could use it to escape. But alas, her hands were tied. But her feet loose. She tried to turn left, twisting her torso painfully to face the armor. With her left feet, she kicked the bottom of the pole to try to loosen the lease of the sword. With a few desparate breaths, the sword fell free and hit the ground, missing her foot by an inch, but leaving a little cut upon her toe.

        She dragged the sword by her feet and slid it behind her so her hands could grab the hilt. The blade cut through the rope easily, and she was freed in an instant.

        Quickly her nose followed the endearing scent of food and found the laden tray on a small table beside the bed. Narissa grabbed the slices of bread first and bit into it greedily, stuffing her mouth with fruit as soon as she had swallowed. When she had drowned her throat with the wine, she turned to the exit.

        Could this be that easy? Narissa playfully thought as she walked toward her goal. But as soon as she popped her head outside, breathing in the fresh smell of air, a sight hindered her to leave.

        "Where are you going, slave?" a man had been saying to a small, frail looking girl no older than Narissa herself. She was lying on the ground and was evidently beaten badly. Her skin was covered in dirt, with blood gushing out of the cuts that dressed her arms and legs.

        "Please, have mercy!" she sobbed, crawling away from the middle-aged man, her dress torn from waist up, revealing her bare chest.

        "Do you think I'll let you go that easily?" taunted the man, pressing his foot on the girl's leg so as to not let her get away "No Jew ever leaves this camp. You will die before you do." then he pulled his sword from beside him.

        "No, please, no--"

        He raised his blade above his head and impailed the poor girl.

        Narissa gasped and stumbled back, crawling inside the comforts of the tent once more, her eyes unable to forget the horrendous sight it had seen. That poor girl. That could be her. And then she imagined the general standing above her, with the sword that she had used to escape in his hands. With one swing it could be her head.