He was sitting on the rock, at the edge of the garden, overlooking “their” small lake, as they called it, spinning the lute in front of him.
A grin appeared on his face “funny, never thought I would learn, but she taught me well, with smiles, laughter and a lot of patience”
He turned around, rose up and looked at the garden house. There was this little chore she asked him to do, to keep himself busy while….
That evening had been a beautiful one, Vanimars Hall’s were filled with music and good company, but on returning home, while sitting before the fire, she told him, she had to leave, that very night, she had to do battle, fight this foe and conquer it.
He protested, of course, but in his heart he knew, she had to go, she was not his prisoner.
He walked up to the main house, stopping at the beautiful bench she crafted, touching the woodwork with his fingers while looking up at the trees. They had done a wonderful job, the garden looked enchanting, bright green, light purple and golden yellow leaves, dancing on the light breeze, whispering.
She had to do this, he knew, and known since they met, but it was no goblin or orc she had to slay, nor a foe his sword could help her with.
He walked back to the rock, and sat down, imagining her mirrored face on the lake’s surface. His fingers started to touch the strings..
There was but one thing he could do…..wait, and receive her with a loving smile when she returned.
