|
|||
crashing to the ground. His conclusion: The two of them struck out at each other at exactly the same moment, their unison almost unnatural in its perfection, both of them subdued by the other's blow. Regardless, the outcome of both versions is the same: both sprawled on deadened ground. He stares at her, she stares back. Excellent form, he groans - the tunic has been ripped away from his side where he has fallen, and a new-born welt grows. What - who are you? she gasps, and the cold clouds of their breaths are joined. Explanations are fractured, but rush forth: I thought - it was said - you are - oh, then you must be - no, that's untrue - my Uncle, damn him! 
|
And then they both laugh. She tears a ragged strip from her gown and wraps it around his wound; he produces a handkerchief to wipe the dirt off her face. He wishes to ask her about her skills, the family style, Old Hawk's exploits, Are you truly the best?, all the questions a student would ask of a teacher, but to ramble on about these matters would be an affront given the misunderstandings that have occurred. They sit alongside the slab of rock, and he traces the outline of longevity with his index finger. The carved strokes and dashes are as flawless as jade. From the other end of longevity, she begins tracing herself, their fingers drawing closer to the center, where they will eventually meet. Their faces blaze with reds and yellows as fireworks detonate over the lake.  |
||
