Authors note: A very short story I wrote while day dreaming. No continuity no elaborate back story but thought I would share.

River finished her poem and drank deeply of the tea that sat with her. She savored every flavor every sent every sound. They dressed her in the traditional manner.

The air was frigid; it made her bones ache. The snow crunched underfoot. Her armor was white but less than the snow. Two sky blue feathers jutted out of each shoulder as high as her helm. It wore no expression. On her left hip lay her sword. She rested her hand on its hilt. Slowly she walked out to meet him. There was no hurry.

The wind was gentle but present the same as the sun. She steadied herself against the cold. His armor was the colour of obsidian. Small rivers of red ran across its surface. His helm smiled at her. Slowly he drew his sword. She did the same. They stood in the old familiar stance. Small flakes of snow danced in the air. Needier would move first. But one must.

He moved. The moment, the instant, the cobras strike. He fell to the ground. The white made red. With a tear River wiped the blood from her blade. It would never be used again. In the snow Simon died, her soul went with him.