They were on their way as the thirteenth hour woke to Keep Shelly In Athens’ ‘Dont Fear The Reaper’. The folded cities fell under the spell of surety and sleep. In the haze of crimson and azure lights, tactical silk slipped over an Urdu verse resting between a warm shoulder and an exquisite neck.
Sulaimani tea was sipped off heavy brass tumblers accompanied by gulab jamuns, which brought alive the memory of a Delhi mahal decked in diya lamps, incense wafting over exotic paintings and anklet adorned feet translating music onto the contours of the carpet and the warrior’s heart.
Almost a thousand battles had been purposely thrown to prepare for this one. The one which would bring about absolute victory. He knew all of them might not return home. The scent of burning roses reached out from her and the knight looked at the sorceress. Her ringed fingers guided a drop of perspiration on his face over the scar and monsoon came upon them. The acolyte opened the door to a lightning stained vista and the trinity stepped into the night to end the war.