He did not see her; seemed deaf to her voice. She whispered to a servant who nodded and ran off. She waited, her eyes on her knight. When he seemed, for a moment to grow still, she tried to reach him again:
“My lord,” she called.
His hand stayed.
“Dragonslayer.”
He turned his head and stared at her, his eyes as empty as a sleepwalker’s. The two stood gazing at each other as a slow recognition came over him.
“Meredith?”
Her servant returned, straining under the weight of the ax.
“My lord,” she said again. “Won’t this serve you better?”
Tale Told 