With a glance he takes in the scene, the dark haired boy’s lifeblood pumping from the wound at his throat and Peleus down on his knees, a dagger in his chest.

Peleus glances up, his breath coming in a ragged wheeze. “Save the girl, Ibrahim.” Pain spikes his chest and he grimaces. “Save her and your debt to me is paid.”

Ibrahim nods as he swiftly stands, removing his robes allowing the waning sunlight to fall on the shining hilts of the knives at his belt. “It is done. Now rest and gather your strength.”

He moves with the subtle grace of a predator, long loping stride eating the cobbles in the alley as a scream echoes close by, cut off savagely by the sound of a blow.

He moves silently into a secluded courtyard, eyes scanning the three men and the small girl instantly. “Enough,” he says softly, as the largest of the three pulls his arm back for another blow.

All three men spin instantly, hands going to the weapons at their belts. The largest, thick necked and wide, steps forward a pace. “Bugger off savage; this is not your concern.”

Ibrahim stills his heart, eyes going frosty and face turning to stone. “I make it my concern. Release the girl. Harm her though, and your deaths will not be so clean. Decide.”

The youngest of the trio begins to free his sword, cut off by the penetrating stare of Ibrahim.

“The first man to draw a blade dies. The second will not be so lucky.” Even as he speaks he sees the decision reached by their leader. Even as he speaks he draws Sorrow from the sheath at his back and throws, watching as it takes the youngster deep in the heart.

The bull charges, sweeping a heavy hatchet from his belt and putting all his strength into a single swing that Ibrahim steps aside from, a side kick sending his assailant staggering away.

The third man pulls a longsword, hands wrapped around the hilt yet a quiver more than evident. Palming away a weak swing Ibrahim steps inside his guard, his fingers forming a stiff blade that he rams into the throat of his opponent, who goes down choking loudly.

Fate and Chance appear in his hands as he jumps above a clumsy low swing by the axeman, his trailing foot lashing out and smashing an already pulped nose. As he lands he rolls forward, beneath another slow swing, Chance flicking out to lash a cut across the other man’s groin.

A scream of pure rage and agony sounds out as the axeman drops to his knees, senses too dulled by pain to notice Ibrahim standing behind him.

Senses only brought alive again as Ibrahim rams home both blades into the back of the axeman. “We do not hesitate, axe man, may you remember that in the next life.”

It is moments before his blades are cleaned and sheathed and he remembers the girl who lies unconscious mere feet away.

“Why are you worth such trouble, little one?” he asks softly, as he scoops her into his arms.

I liked you from the first time
I loved you ever after
I saw you dancing through my dreams
Would you come and dance with me?

We were diving into dreams
We were dancing through the streets
We were running through green fields

I was the actor on a stage
I was your lover in my dreams
I fought for you through fields
What have you done to me?

He sits in the comfortable chair, half empty glass of whiskey never more than a few inches from his left hand, as he ponders the words his father often said and had carved above the door to the bar he once owned. Of course the old man knew what he was talking about, having served his country for nearly thirty years and gotten nothing but a crappy pension and a permanent limp.

His hand shakes as he grips the glass, pausing before he brings it to his lips and drains it.

A breeze blows through an open window and seems to bring to bring the faintest whiff of the perfume she used to wear, bringing tears to his eyes and further shakes to his hand. With a force of will he steadies his hand and deftly pours another large drink, not bothering this time with ice.

He remembers the last time he saw her.

The way her faced glowed as she brushed her dirty blonde hair from her face, the cheeky smile and the glint in the eye revealed in all their glory for him to see.

The way they clasped hands briefly, before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. The way he looked her straight in the eye and mouthed “I love you” before he pressed his lips to hers and let his passion flow between them.

He remembers the way they danced that night, just as they had ten years before when they first met, and he remembers the way her body excited him and her smile enticed.

He remembers the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin.

Most of all though, he remembers the way she looked as they buried her.

“There are no second chances,” he says aloud as he brings his right hand up, pressing the pistol in it to his head and pulling the trigger.

His eyes pass over her, thoughts drifting idly around his mind regarding the shapeliness of her rear and the way she sways her hips just so. It is as if there is just the two of them in the world, nothing else enters the sphere of the focus between them.

He watches her move, the way her muscles expand and contract as she moves her legs beneath a long black skirt. He watches the way she swings her arms, almost playfully like a child on the way to school.

His gaze drifts over her chest and the sensual curve of her neck, taking in the silver earrings that glitter in the morning son an the way she ties her long auburn hair back, so it falls to her waist. He takes in the fullness of her lips and the carefully applied make-up, the over her cute button nose to her piercing pale blue eyes.

He is captivated by those eyes. Like miniature glaciers holding barely contained power, he feels himself almost falling into those eyes.

As a breeze stirs he busy avenue she flicks a loose strand of hair from her face, the movement emphasising the curves of her body and the sensual nature she projects. He smiles in response to the smile she gives, the kind of smile that lights up the face and brightens the day.

He gently caresses the trigger of his rifle, watching the bullet take her just below the right eye. Calmly he exhales, taking his eye from the scope and gently stretching muscles unused in many hours.