the insomniac's tale
(breathe in slowly.)
In the ever consuming silence, he could hear the brush of her fingertips against his skin. She smiled, the gesture would barely reach her frost-bitten lips. He sighed, his breath came out in short little puffs.
The words would slowly slip off his tongue, like he was still deciding whether or not to speak. Her gaze would lull back, and she would give him the most curious glance.
Never the lady, she would answer sharply, shortly.
Their conversation would die out in the winter winds, as they huddled together, cheeks brushing, their battle-ready spirit disappearing in the earth's atmosphere.