The White Shadow

1. Reina

Even though religion was long since nothing but a tale, at times he still looked at his hands and asked...someone. Anyone. Whoever might hear.

He looked at his palms now. If the scars that defined him as a human really did mean something, then demons would exist, with unmarred hands, unaffected by the evil of this world. And if that were true, then surely a being of goodness—a creator—had to exist as well. Thus was the balance of things after all.

Movement beside him pulled him from his reverie, and he looked up.

As close as they had camped to the road, he was surprised to find a woman approach. Bright skin like sheer reflection of sunlight stunned him. Firmin flung his head to the side instantly, face heating. She was completely naked.

Eyes to the ground, he asked, "Do you—uh, need help miss? Perhaps some clothes?"

Firmin glanced at her briefly when he heard no answer but for a gasp. He looked away again, but the expression on her face drew his eyes back.

Eyes wide and face pale, she looked both terrified and terrifying.

"It's alright," he said, fearing she was either about to run or tear him apart. "I won't hurt you."

There was something wild in her gaze that seemed to reach beyond his eyes, like she was trying to see what his soul was made of.

He offered her a smile. "Here, let me give you something to wear."

From the quick glimpses he took of her, he knew his tunic would fit her like a dress. He removed his cloak, then his long-sleeved tunic. It was hot anyways, and free of his heavy layers, he was grateful for the breeze that brushed right through the thin material of his undershirt.

The woman did not proceed to take the tunic as Firmin held it out. He tried not to stare too much at her ivory skin and full breasts, but she didn't even try to cover herself. Unsure what to even do, he tossed the garment, forcing her to catch it. He turned back around, waiting in complete silence for the next seconds. Then, the shuffling noises assuring him she'd put it on, he turned back around.

Though he wasn't perhaps the tallest man, the tunic that reached him mid-thigh covered her knees completely. "It fits," he said, cringing at his own words and the silence after. He was pretty sure he spotted a blush creep up and color her pale skin. Peering from her hair like gems through her coal were the largest and saddest eyes. Firmin couldn't decide if they were blue or purple or gray—or perhaps a shimmering mixture of all, like silver reflecting any light and color that passed by.

She just bit her lip as she returned his gaze, looking haggard and thin. Her skin stretched over her protruding cheekbones, darkness below her eyes so obvious against the white. Pity welled inside Firmin, as he wondered what horrors she'd been through, and his troubles were suddenly unimportant.

"Here," he said, reaching out to take her hand when he noticed how much she was shaking.

She gasped but didn't remove her small hand from his, and when he tugged gently, she followed. He led her to the rock he'd been sitting on, motioning for her to sit. Then, he knelt in front of her and reached to his water flask.

"I found a water hole," he said, glad to have someone to talk to. It was almost like his silent prayer had been heard. "Here, drink. You'll feel better."

She took the flask from him with surprising vigor. Still trembling and eyeing him carefully, she brought it to her lips. Water dripped down her chin, escaping her full lips. Firmin watched her throat bob several times before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smudging mud across her face.