"Off course I remember the way." he growled back, keeping his head high. He wouldn't admit something like... Not knowing the way... Off course he knew the way! To let himself drop so low as to ask her for directions to a house he's been in for so long-
Shaking his head to empty his mind, he brisked up, and continued walking. It wouldn't take so long before they'd reach the house, and he wasted no time at all, laying the armor and weapons onto the side of the bed in the guest room, and throwing his own shirt onto the floor, slumping into the covers as soon as he just could.
That night, he was happy that he did not remember his dreams. They were confused and dark, even grimmer than what his eyes saw when wide open, wide awake. He saw her, laughing into his face, and it sent a shiver down his dream self's spine, making him toss and turn within the bed. His own sword was aimed against him, and he could not stop it in its track.
Off with her head, he wanted to see it tumbling into the dirt with the long river of red of her hair mingling with the long river of red of her blood.
When he awoke, he was cold, the blanket swept to one side, and covering no more but a part of his chest and abdomen. He stared at the ceiling, grey with the dim light of the sun, peering from behind the clouds outside, a bad feeling in his gut, a bad feeling that he learned to identify as an instinctive warning, a warning telling him that something bad was happening.
He raised himself up onto his elbows, the cold metal digging into the mattress, and took a few deep breaths to cool himself down, and empty his head from the feeling of confusion, the aftermath of the night. He didn't want to think. He wanted to get up and fight. It was the only thing on his mind right now.
He let his feet slide off the bed, slowly standing up and picking the dropped shirt up. It was such a pleasing feeling, his muscles and tendons stretching as smoothly as ever, unlike the previous days, when every movement made him twitch, if he was at least capable of it.
Yet, he wasn't at peace in his soul. That has not seen peace since his youth... And even then... No, there has never been any peace. There was only war and bloodshed, there was only suffering and the struggle to escape it, there was never any peace! There was never any compassion, empathy, hope, love, dreams, faith, or enlightenment! And how could there, in that gaping hole, that endless blackness, ever be something? How could something ever fill it?
He clenched his hands around the windowsill, fingers very near digging into the wood, and he clenched his teeth tight.
He had more important things to do than ponder above the morality of his actions and the meaning of his life! For once, he wasn't fighting entirely only for himself.
Turning on his heel, he stepped towards the door, opening it, and blankly gazing out.
