Some thing I wrote ages ago that I have decided to publish.

He never saw it coming, the arrow meant for him. He was there, fighting like a hurricane with such a grace that only he could achieve. A deadly dance just him and the enemy; twisting and turning, his hair a spay of silver against the black and red of the battle was beautiful. The best of the best, no foe escaped the reach of his long knives that cut through then like air. No matter how hard they tried sneak up behind him he saw them and killed them. But he didn't see the archer. The one aiming strait at him. Didn't see him draw back, didn't see him aim, didn't see it fly, the arrow meant for him. He didn't see all these things, just like he didn't see me jump and take that arrow meant for him.

He never saw me fall upon the foes that he cut down. And as I bled I contemplated how blind he really was, there were so May things you see, that he never really saw, the smiles and sideways glances, the lingering of my gaze. Nor the longing in my voice, or the way I said his name. He never saw all these things, like he never saw the arrow; and I guess he'll never know I died for him, because I always loved him.