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Far away in the land of arabia, in a kingdom by the desert, is a Princess, who goes by Qadira. She was born with talent and skill, the hands of a physician and the mind of a skilled herbalist. Simply put, she is a healer. Then there is Prince...
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THE SCRAPING OF SWORDS was the only sound keeping Qaswar sane. His hands worked their way down the intricate designs of Khalid and the other blunt sword and he scraped them against eachother harder, in hopes that Khalid would generously share its brilliance with the other sword.
He despised the silence, the only comfort he received was that of war and battle like the one he had been thrust into now. It was an odd concept but a warrior should not find peace within jewels and a crown but in the justice served and the fair spillage of blood.
"Will you stop that?" asked Badr irritatedly, his brows furrowed in annoyance. The other boy was on his own horse, the hooves surprisingly silent upon the crisp of the autumn leaves below. His one hand was on the reigns of his horse and his other, widely alert, was on the hilt of his own long sword at his waist. His eyes were like falcons, looking behind his brother's back in case their enemies were to pounce onto them in the middle of the forest.
It was indeed comforting for Qaswar to know that his brother would have his back and he was able to relax himself and his mind whist completing his sharpening duty.
"No."
The prince stood back up again and climbed his own horse. Although he had said no, he did stop the scraping only because the blade was now sharp enough. They were not to enter the battle field yet. At all, in fact.
Badr fought many times, but Qaswar was ordered by his majesty to never set foot in the battlefield ever again, besides emergencies. Qaswar was well aware of the non stop buzzing in his mind, his veins which were filled with the fire of battle sizzling through his skin. He loved that feeling.
The horse squirmed at first when the prince mounted him but when Qaswar leaned over and stroked its mane, it slumped in relaxation. The only creature on this earth which Qaswar would ever be so gentle towards was Shahbaz, his black stallion.
"Someone could hear you," stated Badr, "and your recklessness."
"Then let them come." Shahbaz began to move forward, his soft neighs mixing into the whispers of the wind. "I feel like slaughtering some poor soul anyway."
Badr finally smiled and Qaswar leaped inside that he had been the reason behind his friend's smile.
"Don't worry ya Badr, I will make their death quick," smirked Qaswar. "Painless."
"And that is supposed to comfort me how?" Badr asked, his tone light and amused.
Qaswar shrugged, even the movement of his shoulders were graceful. "Less blood on your hands, more on mine. A great way to start the night, don't you think?" The prince of swords halted with his horse as Shahbaz refused to go on further.
"What is it?" Badr stopped too, pulling the reigns of his horse so that it would face Qaswar.
"Shahbaz is thirsty, the stubborn horse will not take me further unless I bring some water to him," sighed the prince. He leaped off his horse again and began to untie the satchel which was attached to it.
