Silver Eyes
His lips were cracked and dry. He was cold, even though the wind blowing down from the mountains was hot. He shuddered. The wind sucked all the warmth from his body, rushed his life’s breath from his very lips. He felt like a dry blade of grass bending before the blazing winds of bushfire.
He had dreamed again, last night.
Of darkness. And of fire.
He looked at his herald, standing next to the tower. He was so young! But his eyes had already darkened, their silver tarnished with the inevitable stains of battle.
What would make them shine again?