“Will she breathe fire like the stories?”
“Funny you should ask that young lord.”
“I am not a lord, how many times do i have to say it?”
Mardy whispered in Kira’s ear, “He is a few knives
short of a cutlery set, crusades and all.”
“You stay here mardy while kira and i go talk.”
After a few minutes of shouting, Perceval drew his
sword and ran kira through. In a zillionth of a heartbeat,
she showered Perceval in flame.
She inhaled again, heard kira’s voice, and she acted
her age. The speed by which she scooped up his body
and flew into the air pulled ten year old oak trees from
their moorings. Within seconds they were almost miles away, as she dove into the near frozen lake. When she emerged she held the unsinged Kira to her chest and warmed him with her busom.
Many men have died without knowing fear, but the fair
knight was not one of them. Perceval spoke like a
salesman trying to explain how her breathe couldn’t
burn Kira because hate made the fire.
“Then why aren’t you burned?”