234 Fleeting Breath (2/2)

Mounting on his horse, the general's figure departed from the camp. Lifting their head from beneath their cloak, a pale face and emerald eyes watched the Bai General leave until his figure disappeared.

…

Dawn settled. There were men everywhere, sharpening their swords, putting points on crude spears, donning makeshift armor of hiding, horn, and bone. Their campfires sending up smoky fingers to scratch against the pale dawn sky.

In a yurt, An Hongyu sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped around a brush and his eyes on a blank, pale piece of paper. A flickering candle burned on a low table beside a flagon of wine, spicing the air with the scent of jasmine.

Fiddling with the brush in his hand, he finally began to write. After a few sentences, he poured himself some wine and sipped, warming his dry mouth with honey and clove wine. Smacking his lips, he wrote some more. He was on his third cup and half the night had passed before he had finished his letter.

Coughing into his fist, he took a swallow of wine and coughed again, more violently. His throat had only felt even drier. An Hongyu coughed spat and coughed again.

He took another drink or tried to as all the wine came spewing back out when another spate of coughing doubled him over. His face was turning red. The sudden spasm of pain made An Hongyu's hands tighten. His nails dug into the tables wood, and he gave a muffled scream. His uncontrollable fits of coughing brought up gobs of bloody phlegm.

No one came to help him, nor even peered through a window to see what was the matter. The windows were shuttered, the doors barred. All that could be heard was the sound of Tuhan men rattling along outside the yurt.

”H-Hel…” An Hongyu's words broke up in a fit of coughing. He spat out a mouthful of blood, his body falling heavily on the floor, a dark red wine spilling by his feet.

He began to claw at his throat, his nails tearing bloody gouges in the flesh, still choking. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps sounded nearby, walking closer to the yurt. The sound of the door opened as the person walked inside.

An Hongyu raised his head through chokes. His eyes landed on a pair of white, delicate feet. They looked so pure. Lifting his eyes, he froze. A pair of eyes stared back at him. Green tendrils circled his pupil, filling up his iris with every wonder in life, intoxicating An Hongyu with their depth.

However, the face belonging to them was cold.

They watched him with an empty stare. An Hongyu was making a dry clacking noise, trying to speak. His eyes bulged white with terror, a trembling hand lifting to the pale man. His face was only growing darker until finally, his hand dropped.

In a puddle of wine, An Hongyu lay there, his body limp and lifeless on the floor. The pale man stared at him for a moment longer before shifting his eyes around the room. They landed on the paper on the desk. Quietly walking over, his soft gaze landed on the letter written by An Hongyu. Drops of wine bled into the white paper.

He raised it into the candlelight to read and very quickly, the light in his eyes vanished.

”An alliance…” His soft voice said the words like a whispering wind.

With empty eyes, he lifted the letter to the candle flames. He watched as the letter coiled like a child into the burning fire, darkness swallowing its written words until it was nothing but a pile of ash. Rubbing the ash between his pale fingers, he turned away.

Just as he entered, he disappeared from the yurt leaving only the corpse of An Hongyu.