Rolling her head on the dried porridge surface of the stone floor, Sarah felt, then saw, the door burst open a spilt-second ahead of Brother Abbott; lassitude flowed and carried her along the edges of alert and entirely-elsewhere, as she watched him, fists clenched like a cloth bag of chestnuts, a telltale filigree of concern softening his voice, “Sarah, are you alright?”
Sarah was young and, in keeping with the Order of Lilith’s view on the care and training of the body, balanced on the edge of thinly-muscled and being mistaken for a boy; from her perspective, the man entering the room, with a quickness that should have blurred outlines and swept back his brown hair, was quite large and nearer the age of parents than friends.
Had she been only a few years more advanced in her studies and training, the mixed reaction flaring in both her mind and her body would have raised an alarm; Brother Abbott’s display of powerful grace in the first two seconds upon entering the room was both surprising and oddly exciting; even a little more study would have flagged the deepening of her breath and narrowing of eyes.
Kneeling at her side, he became the foundation of her world; one hand lightly touched her throat, his eyes first to the black rectangle of the holding cell then to her, Brother Abbott’s breathing was un-labored, yet his nostrils flared like a race horse after crossing the finish line first, as he scanned her for broken bones or worse, flowing blood.
Sarah was drawn from the peaceful calm that flourished in the lethal competence that radiated off his broad shoulders by a sense of another, which was impossible, a mistaken assumption that was the true price of her naiveté.
“Hello Sarah, it appears you and I are going to be close…very close friends,” despite her fear, Sarah reached up and grasped Brother Abbott’s forearm with a strength that, were he not still in full attack mode, might have added something to his relief as his favorite student rose from the floor.
The Order of Lilith 