My captor wears the red carapace of death that shattered the universe. But he stole me away from death instead. He carried me on his horse, galloping with earth pounding haste, as if being chased by a dragon. We did not stop until the horse begged mercy. We found a clearing. The suit of red iron dismounted, and sat down alone for a long while.
I knelt next to the horse to hug its soft coat and cry. My captor approached me. He lifted his visor. I saw his face. Skin. Eyes. A youth—not much older than me, perhaps. His lips spoke his name: Alaric. His jaw was clenched, but his mouth trembled. I think he was afraid. Not of me.
A youth with stormlight eyes
and a mouth that forgot how to smile.
Armor is a wall.
A face is a window.
I looked through.
And he did not close the shutters.