Furley sighed inward, feeling numb. He thought that taking a few weeks to himself to do nothing would have helped, but it didn't. He still couldn't shake off the constant dreams of the battles in the South, and the flames of Archet still came for him almost every night, and he nearly always woke in a sweat.
He thought that Ede would have changed all of that, and she had, but part of him was glad they weren't married yet, for he couldn't bare the thought of waking her if he should have one of his nightmares if she were beside him. Outwards, his experience had taught him to be what people needed him to be, but he couldn't help but feel anger, hatred and his resentment bubble beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. He knew he had to get a lid on it, and do it quick. But tonight wasn't one of those nights.
Ede had been captured by the ever-encroaching and daring brigands, and they'd tried to torture her, and she'd come back scarred and hurt, and something in him had just snapped. He'd made his excuses to her in the tavern, and left her there to come here before the day broke. Dawn wasn't far away, and in the black of night, he stood there atop his horse, fully armoured, teeth bared, and snarled.
Looking down at the camp of brigands camped near Dwaling, he drew his sword, kissing the cross-guard, gripping the reins a little tighter. Feeling the adrenaline pump through his veins, he watched as a few of the members of the camp strolled about, completely unaware of his presence. He grinned, jaw opening like a serpent, his anger fully boiling over now, filling him, letting it make him feel strong.
"Wonder how many of you bastards were in Archet" he mumbled to himself. "No matter, because none of you will see the sun again". Laughing to himself, he lifted his sword in the air, kicked his heel sinto his mount and galloped down the hill toward them, relishing the startled look of alarm he was greeted with as he charged, and his first sword stroke fell.
