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Percival And Sir Gawain-Personal Narrative

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Rion charged for the path, his arms pumping his little legs flying. “All right.” Percival rubbed his hands together, trying to figure out how he might best move Gawain without causing further issue. Tossed over the shoulder, the typical way to carry a wounded man, was out of the question. He would need to carry Gwaine supine in his arms, much like a sleeping baby might be carried. Gwaine was sure to hate that. But Gwaine’s eyes had begun to drift close and his face appeared more bloodless than ever, so Percival lifted his injured friends into his arms. “Dear gods above, it hurts like a demon’s flaming sword,” muttered Gwaine. Percival took careful but rapid steps along the path, doing his best to not jostle Gwaine too much. “Good. When…show more content…
And when offered a wet rag and clean clothes, he ignored the gifts. But the sight of one person drew him out of his misery – Fleur. For once, she wandered toward him with no children in tow. Today, she wore no linen coif, and her elbow-length, blond hair hung down loose. Percival had not realized how thick and glossy it was. And instead of wearing her typical nanny uniform of a stiff beige tunic dress, she wore a pale blue dress, more fitted at the top, and cinched at the waist with dark leather girdle belt. The belt accentuated the curve of her hips, and he color of her dress brought out the light honey color in her eyes. She was even more beautiful than he recalled, and in that instant, her presence was the balm he needed to soothe his agitated soul. He realized that he’d had but one brief interaction with her earlier in the day, yet her presence was exactly what he needed. She walked right up to him and smiled. Fleur had seemed so shy before, and a hint of timidity remained, yet she pulled a damp rag from the small pouch attached to her belt and began to wipe Percival’s chest clean of the dried
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