He judged the shadows of the two palm trees close to her house, the scorching sun would set soon enough leaving the desert's sky to the jealous veil of the cold, long night. That was when she habitually ventured out to see him.
Unlike any other, he was able to blend well with the colors of this harsh place, his worn-out body was wrapped in the heavy blue robe of the desert people, and his hazel eyes — the only part uncovered about his face — were the shade of Latora's sands beneath this sunset. But the burning fury inside of them belonged to those who belonged nowhere, for this rootless wanderer had nothing left to lose.
They were about to take the object of his obsession, the only reason he lived through another day away from him.
If unleashed, the inferno fuelling Leopold might as well burn this wicked Kingdom and every breathing being atop its stolen lands to the ground.
