A gentle glow of campfire light greeted the warrior's eyes as she rested on her warm, comfortable bed roll. She reached down and pulled the dark blue blanket over her waist to keep warm. It was a thick, well-quilted covering. The blanket, given to her two seasons ago, was a present from her bard. A thoughtful gesture which had come at the cost of her friends very own pleasure, the purchase of a new scroll. Such a small sacrifice really, but that was what made the kindness all the more meaningful.
Her bard had always been thoughtful and kind, almost wise beyond her years. She held a gentle, inner strength which even in sleep, as she was now, claimed certain respect from her surroundings. A silent testament to the true beauty of nature. The warrior had always felt that to be true of her.
The first time they met, the warrior had been impressed by the young woman's determination. Had it been so long ago? She smiled at the memories of her soulmate asking to travel with her. Her friend had come a long way. Runaway ... travel companion ... honorary Amazon ... bard... Amazon Queen ... mother ... warrior.
She reminded herself that they were both warriors now of almost equal skills. Her friend had made a great sacrifice in her transition from bard to warrior. She had given up a great many ideals. She still hesitated to use lethal attacks on a few occasions and the warrior was secretly pleased with that. Even though a moment's pause could prove harmful, she felt as though some small part of her friend's original spirit remained intact.
Perhaps that was why the warrior wrote on her own personal scroll as her friend continued to sleep. She wanted to find some unrealized creativity in herself. She wanted to write a story that would make her soulmate proud. She felt her attempts at writing justified their time together by bringing their friendship about full circle. The bard who had become a warrior traveled with the warrior practicing to become a bard. Each experienced the other person's life and they had grown stronger.
Sometimes when they traveled along a simple path or dirt road, the warrior would find subtle ways to gain bardic advice from her friend. Her questions were ordered so there would be no suspicions of her intentions. There was a definite talent to writing that needed to be learned. It was a skill as carefully controlled as the thrust of a sword. She did not want to share her scrolls with her warrior-bard until she felt the stories were properly written. The warrior allowed herself a brief moment of self-compliment as that striving for perfection must certainly show signs of her improvement as a bard.
The warrior looked down to the story on her scroll. She let out a small sigh. The words were well written in her opinion. Her bard had told her to write from life experiences. That would allow for greater concentration on word structure. She certainly had more than enough subjects to draw from her own past. Of course not all of her past memories were the best subjects to choose.
The Passion Scrolls. The title sounded promising even if suggestive. The three written stories were fictional, like unspoken daydreams. She was tempted to consider them private fantasies, but since they were on paper it made them feel open for everyone to read. That made her uncomfortable. All of them fell short of her better intentions and that was the source of her problems.
When the warrior read her friend's stories, she felt uplifted by the heroic tales. She even felt embarrassed by the high praise given to her. Whatever battles she had been in seemed ordinary and unworthy of a story in her modest opinion. In comparison, her won stories held a darker mood. As much as she tried to write of lighthearted events, the stories always conveyed a tone of dark erotic fantasy.
She reminded herself that she was an adult. She had every right to think however she wanted. From a bard point-of-view however, her stories were falling short of her goals. In the first story she should never have written the part of bathing as an unspoken invitation to her bard. She had not even mentioned those feelings to her yet, not in an outright open manner. What if those feelings were not mutual? What if she might be taking advantage of her friend's admiration for her? Their bond existed on such a close, personal level it was difficult to draw the line sometimes.
The second and third stories were more common examples of her daydreams, not so much desires as wanton challenges. They always ended with her taking some amount of pleasure from men before she punished them in a lethal fashion. Those thoughts were from her dark years, when she relied upon manipulation and seduction to get her way. A forth story would continue that idea further. She would travel through the forest looking for her bard only to be distracted by erotic, intimate fantasies with warlords, emperors and war gods. It would all end with some realization that the love goddess was weak from the fall of Olympus and relied on basic lust to maintain her powers. Bard and Warrior would be caught up in eternal intimate passion and would have to decide for themselves if they should break it off or continue to give the love goddess the eternal power she craved.
She decided against writing any more of the story. With an open show of regret for her limited writing skills, the warrior rolled up her scroll. She set her writing quill on the ground. She envied her bard's writing skills, her retained innocence of spirit, and her joy for life. She wished she could have those feelings more often but perhaps that was not meant to be. She sighed once more and laid down on her bedroll.
Her bard stirred from sleep at the sound of something being tossed into the fire. Curious green eyes in a sleepful haze met with the warrior's dark blue eyes. The warrior lifted a small stick to suggest what had been thrown into the fire. Her friend nodded her head and returned to sleep. The warrior brought her attention back to the campfire and the burning scroll. The Passion Scroll. Someday, the warrior promised herself, the Passion Scrolls would live again.
The End?