Her red dress dances to its own haunted rhythm.
Her red hair summons the wind to blow it lightly, a woman that nature communes with.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it Soap"?
Sorins back is slender, as is her waist, and like the Amazonians of legend, her voluminous hips carry her power.
A container for all things unbound.
I shiver at her beauty.
I shiver at her intentions.
I shiver at her power.
Such is the life of those that wear the mark of the king.
The soft crunching of my feet against the grass can no longer be heard over my own heartbeat.
I hope that I might live past tonight.
I pray that my mind be good to me.
"Isn't it Soap"? her words come as her feet halt.
The long creamy legs wait for me to match her, so as we might walk side by side.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for my lady is with me.
