Anger flickers quietly within my heart still. Though it should not, we have discussed the matter at length and yet the thought of being placed on the same pedestal as the Snake widower, a man with one of the most strikeable faces I have ever encountered bothers me.
How could she think that of me? That I would stoop to such a level, of trivialising the love in which we share by taking to bed some back-alley Sally?
I hate goodbyes. I have always avoided them. More to the point, I have always avoided the need to utter such a word. When there's naught to hold you back, there's naught to say goodbye to.
As Dagramir awakes for a fresh day of travel, following his decision to kip in an old Watch-house, he looks out across the horizon in wonder. Summer had certainly arrived in the Bree-lands, and the beautiful sight of the sun beating down across the farmland almost made him reconsider his final destination... But, after a few moment of reflection, he reaffirmed himself that this was a journey he had to take, for his own good.
A rolled length of neat parchment, clearly expensive paper, denoting some form of wealth. Sealed only by a tied ribbon of crimson, the knot held down by a stamp of black wax. A coiled snake contained within the void-like circular impregnation. Upon unfurling the document, it would read:
There was something almost melancholy about the scene that lay before Dagramir’s sleepless eyes. Ashaia lay, as she always did, half of her body splayed out on top of him. Her leg draped over his, almost possessive in her sub-conscious. Her arm lay over his abdomen, and his arm lay over her own. Bare of clothes, naught but their bodies and souls left for each other to gaze upon.
So, bored out of my pretty little wits and in severe need of a change of scenery, I utilised that handily situated trellis to get myself up onto Steel's back again and rode myself straight out of Bree!