Creative Writing: Perceval's It

“Beautiful names,” said Joan. “All three of them.” She reached out and touched Perceval’s jaw with care. “You’ve experienced such a terrible loss, but you’re not bitter. In fact, you seem like a good soul.”

“You knights and the king’ll stop this Morgane and her men, won’t you?” she asked Perceval as she packed. “Everyone’s right terrified. And it’s not just them! One of my girls saw those men from the Highlands… scary looking dressed in furs and with drawing on their bodies.”

“Just go,” Dean breathed pulling her close. She was awake and tears were falling from her eyes she couldn’t speak gasping for breath but she gently rubbed his arms. As if he was the one who needed comforting.

“Stop hurting me,” the child sobbed as Pawl poked around Wallace’s raw injury. “Please, Mam, please…”

“I’ve never seen him behave like this,” Joan whispered over her father’s ongoing praises. “Best to just wait it out.”

“The wound is sealed now,” noted Pawl, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “He’s less likely to get an infection with the cauterization, but I’ll need to keep a close watch on his recovery, especially for the first several days. He’s lost a great deal of blood and his health his still at risk. And there’s the matter of managing the pain, too, which will be… significant.”

“It was terrible,” Perceval answered miserably, ashen-faced, as he flung his body into the chair. “I told her I didn’t know how to read Frankish and then I ran away like a frightened little girl.” He dropped his head onto the scarred wooden table with a heavy thunk and groaned.

“You’re going to spend next month here? With her?” The elder seems not shocked exactly, maybe a little disappointed.

Joan wept openly now, and Perceval gathered her into his arms and finished his story.

She was stunningly gorgeous with platinum blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and an enchanting English accent. He was frozen by her beauty, she looked about his age but, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The older boy noticed this and stepped in front of her.

Clare’s heart looked as if it had literally broken at the strained sound of her husband’s voice. Yet, she couldn’t utter as single comfort in return. The man held no sympathy as he shoved her away from her dying lover. Clare could do nothing, but thrash hopelessly to get back to her fallen lover. In a last resort, Clare hastily yanked off her wedding band and threw it at her husband.

Joan held the scrap of parchment to her chest. In her eyes, her husband was close to a god. He was smart, loving, powerful, and the most handsome man she had ever seen. Perceval claimed his size put most women off him, but how was that possible? The cut lines of his rock-hard muscles were a sight to behold. He towered over men but was quick on his feet and brutally strong. A talented swordsman and jouster, he was fierce in battle but tender with her and Percy. And those blue-gray eyes always lit up with love for her and their

He realized he had to put an end to this madness, but felt frozen. One more stroke of Joan’s hand, another gentle brush of her thumb, he was done for; he would certainly find his release. What would she think of him when he

"Commander, she looks like she's half sane. Could we not reason with her" Gatrie ask.

“Oh Lennie,” she cried, hearing the sirens of the ambulance in the distance. She didn’t dare make a move to touch him, for she feared that she would just add on to the damage.