Lion Head Mesa Pólemos II

As the autumn maid pulled herself from his arms, Arsenio exhaled. She carried that breath from him, away from that place, and back with her to the mesa.

The Greek man remained there, upon his backside, watching as she faded from his sight. He relished in the moments of touch they had shared, playing the scenes over and over in his mind until he had worked a large lump into the back of his throat and had befuddled himself beyond fixing. Only when the mercenary had been able to calm himself did he move to return to the queen and the other Fellahin.

His mind swam with pictures of Tamar’s brown eyes.