Of Fields and Mist - This is incomplete (I ran out of steam and that's all that came to me... :/)
He stood in the field, tall grasses caressed his thighs as he stood there. He did not remember how he got there this field of grass, of grass and mist. Thick mist that seemed to have a life and mind of its own. In distance more than a hundred paces he saw a single tree as it domed at its top and its trunk seeming naked. Then it came to him the softest of whispers in the far off and distorted distance of field and mist, the sound of thunder. His heart quickened, to be caught out in a storm now would be deadly. He gripped his weapon, a sword handed down in his family, a fine weapon for a fine fighter. He frowned though as he gripped her pommel, he did not recall getting to the field, but he still had his weapon. A weapon he had left at home. As he thought the sound got closer, the sound of thunder, rumbling in the distance. He turned looking this way and that, trying to figure out from which direction it would come and which way he would go. And as he looked and listened the mist curled, and moved as though a current were stirring it to life. And then closer still he heard a squeal, high pitched and angry something was coming. His heart squeezed, this man of war was afraid. He was alone with no one man or woman to aid him. And then as the thunder grew ever louder he began to hear the individual sounds of hoof beats. His aching heart began to race, that was not a storm headed his way, it was a stampede, a stampede of horses, the angry squeal a squeal of pain and terror. The pain and terror of a best being ridden to hell and back. They were getting closer and the mist was hiding then. And then suddenly out of no where he hears the shif shif of a body moving through the thigh high grass. The body was moving fast, it was running. He turned just in time to see a small person tackle him to the ground and roll him under a log he had failed to notice. Before he could react or draw his weapon a soft and quiet voice whispered urgently and out of breath in his ear, "Do not move" she breathed, for it was indeed a she. Her small soft body pressed on top of his as she hid them from sight. The thunder of hooves got closer as they lay there, her breath was coming hard, and her chest rose and fell in response. Her breathe was not unpleasant either, she smelled of wild flowers, and her breath of honey. Some escaped hair fell to his chest, a deep he red shone from it in the bad light. And she seemed to fill the small dark space with her presence. Unable to help himself he was aroused by this wild woman. She must have felt him for she looked at him then. His breath stuck in his throat. The purest and greenest eyes he had overseen looked him, compelling eyes telling him to be still. And then he heard it. Men shouting over the sound of the hooves. They seemed angry, a prey had eluded them it seemed and they wanted it back. He glanced at the wild woman on his chest, her eyes were hard as if she dared him to do something, but just on the edges he saw it. She was a afraid, terrified of being found out or being betrayed by him. Moving slowly so as not to frighten her he wrapped his arms around her, then shifting quietly he rolled them so that she would be hidden. His leather armour creaked as he moved it seemed new. He lay there this creature in his arms wondering again how he had gotten there. He tried to think beyond his 'awakening' in the field, but he could not. The hoof beats had been drawing ever nearer as they had lay there. He shifted and moved in such a way that she was now right against the back of the log, he knew she would be hidden from view if he had to move. And then suddenly the sounds beyond the log changed. The hoof beats had stopped. People dismounting not far from where he was. Foot steps neared and he heard the owner paused. A boot nudged him then. He was instantly enraged, this booted person had no manners. He rolled over onto his back a deep frown furrowing his brows as he looked up at the owner of the boot.