TWENTY-THREE
Yun tried to concentrate on the page before him. With all his might, he strove to conjure up the image of a noble battle, an army victorious. He'd have settled for the b****y battlefield, strewn with corpses. Yet all he could see in his mind's eye was her hands, fluttering at her breast as she offered to unlace her dress.
Willing, yet wishing she could fly free. Far from fearless, for she knew about his brothers and their wives, though she did not fear him. Laughter like chattering parrots as she described her terror.
What sort of woman laughed in the face of her own fear?
If he touched her breast, would her heart flutter beneath his fingers?
With trepidation, he lifted his brush and wrote:
My love is a bird
Bright of eye with airy wing
Fluttering high with my heart
