text: The first time I saw you I screamed. The night had been quiet, as quiet as any hunting camp can be. The sounds of men sleeping restlessly while horses neighed and stamped their feet at little scurrying creatures blended into the gentle night atmosphere -- only interrupted by my own muffled sobs. I heard the guard stationed at the entrance to my tent let out a quiet, strangled groan then the unmistakable sound of a blade piercing flesh. A weight fell against the tent wall and slid to the ground, letting out a sickening, gurgling, whimper as it fell. Then a puddle of blood, nearly black in the faint candlelight, seeped under the canvas. I stared as it pooled, steam rising and dissipating in the cool night air. Then you burst through the tent entrance, sudden but silent. Blood was splattered across your chest and dripped from your hands. Your mouth was pinched tight and your eyes were wide in an expression of mad, ferocious anticipation of battle. The blood speckled across your face highlighted the deep, jagged scars crisscrossing your face. You stood at the entrance, blade in hand, and looked like an absolute monster. I screamed. You rushed at me, covering the several feet between us so quickly I barely had time to flinch. You clamped a rough hand over my mouth, cutting off my scream. “Shhh. Quiet child,” you whispered. Even in a whisper, your voice was harsh, demanding -- dry -- as if it were not something you used often. You lifted your knife in front of my face and my heart dropped into my stomach. I tried to pull away from you but the rope tying me to the stake in the ground held tight. “Be still,” you demanded and with a couple of quick motions, you sawed through the rope. Your movements were so quick and sure it must have only been a few seconds between you entering my tent and cutting my bonds. As you pulled me to my feet I heard men moving and swords being pulled from scabbards. My scream had woken the camp. You must have heard them too because you cursed and said, “Follow me. Quietly.” You cut a slit in the back of the tent and stepped through, pulling me behind you. The night was dark, with clouds covering the stars and tents blocking most of the light from the fires. You pulled me further into the dark, through the trees. Behind us, I heard men swear and begin yelling for the others to come to them. They must have found the guard’s body. A moment later I heard another shout and light poured into the night as the tear in the tent was spread wider. You pulled me harder, silently urging me to move quicker as men began to crash into the woods behind us. Your steps were quick and intentional. You made no noise as you moved. My steps were clumsy and loud, my dress seemed to snag on every branch and thistle in the woods. We entered a small clearing and in the faint light, I saw a moving shadow, too large to be a man. The creature stamped a foot and huffed impatiently as we neared. A horse. Your horse! We were going to make it! We broke into a run, and in the dark, I didn’t see the boulder sticking from the ground. I tripped and went sprawling, my hand wrenched from yours. I hit the ground hard but adrenaline masked the pain and I quickly pushed myself up. Just as I made it to my hands and knees the clouds parted overhead. A sliver of light peaked through the night highlighting the rock that had tripped me. Only it wasn’t a boulder. It was a man. His mouth and eyes gaped open in a frozen expression of shock. A thin red line crossed his pale neck where a blade had opened his throat. I screamed again. You were further away from me this time, untethering your horse. It took you a couple of seconds to get to me and get a quieting hand over my mouth. “Shush child,” you commanded. You wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me. You didn’t lift me to my feet but carried me, one-handed, to your horse and sat me in the saddle. You grabbed the saddle horn and gracefully pulled yourself into the seat behind me. Even as you kicked your heels into the horse’s flank, men started crashing into the clearing, apparently drawn to my scream. We shot off in the opposite direction, the horse nearly at full speed within a few steps. We crossed the clearing and made it to the woodline. I closed my eyes tight, sure we were going to run straight into a tree but a small trail opened up. I don’t know how you saw it in the dark but you guided the horse straight to the trail and navigated the opening perfectly. We made it no more than ten or twelve lengths into the woods before I heard a sickening sound of wood meeting bone and the sudden cool air on my back told me you were gone. I chanced a glance behind me and could barely see you laying on the ground a large dark figure standing over you. I whipped my gaze ahead of me, terrified of running full speed into a branch, and saw several men standing in the trail ahead of me. I froze. I couldn’t imagine how the men had gotten in front of us and I didn’t know what to do. I had heard stories of what men like that did to girls, even young girls like me -- even young princesses like me. I knew what was likely to happen if they caught me again, but I was a child. I didn’t know how to defend myself or how to face down an attacker. I panicked and remained motionless. Your horse, however, did not. We hit the crowd of men with all the speed and power the warhorse was capable of. A couple of the men were sent flying, their bodies flung like ragdolls. Another crumpled to the ground, his agonized screams almost drowning the sound of his bones shattering under the horse’s hooves. And then I was clear, through the crowd with only open trail before me. Except I wasn’t clear. Just as I made it past the last man, another stepped out of the woods, threw out a hand to catch me by the arm and yanked me out of the saddle. I hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of my lungs. A rat-faced, gap-toothed man leaned over me and sneered, “Naw where ya’ think ya’ be uff to, naw miss?” Other than a few crude jokes and several vile threats, the men didn’t say much to me when they brought me back to the camp. They bound my feet as well as my hands and tied me to a stake near the fire. I guess they wanted to be able to keep an eye on me. I watched as they dragged the dead guard out into the woods and left him, not caring enough to bury him. Several of the men wandered around the camp nervously eyeing the woods and the rest gathered around the fire. From their conversations, it seemed none of them believed you had come on your own. I laid on the ground, trying to make myself as close to invisible as possible. And I cried. Men sat on logs between me and the fire, blocking the heat. So, I curled into a shivering, weeping ball for I don’t know how long until the fear and the struggle of the day got the best of my body and I began to nod off. I was only half asleep when my eyes shot open and my head jerked up. I tried to place what had woken me. There hadn’t been a noise, I was sure of that. But something was happening. There was some kind of electric tension in the air, like the anticipation before a lightning storm. The men around me sensed it too. Several stood, their hands drifting to their swords for reassurance. Every eye flicked nervously over the deep shadows of the woods. Men shifted anxiously, gathering closer together on instinct. Everyone was perfectly silent. Everything was perfectly silent, like even the creatures in the woods could sense a great and terrible danger was approaching. And then you were among them. One moment there was complete, excruciating silence and the next you were running, quicker than I would have thought possible, into the middle of my captors. In the firelight, I saw a deep gash above your eye, and dried blood covered half your scarred face. You held a sword in each hand and didn’t make so much as a whisper as you moved. It was many years ago now, and the details of the fight are foggy. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to remember more even if I could. I just remember you were a blur. You did not stop moving. Men came at you in twos and threes and you blocked, dogged, sliced, chopped and pierced. Always moving and every movement deadly. If I had been deaf, if I hadn’t been able to hear the gruesome sounds of metal meeting flesh and the anguished screams of the dying, I think I would have thought it was graceful. You ducked, and twirled, and spun, slashing one, parrying another, rending a third. More men came running from the woods, guards that had been on patrol called back by the screams from the camp. You took them as they came, a master performing his bloody art with elegant, terrible, efficiency. An eternity later, or maybe just a moment, the camp was quiet again. You stalked around the fire, muscles tense like a cat ready to pounce. After several minutes you must have been sure that they were all dead. I saw your body physically relax as you walked toward me, swords in hands dangling by your side. You were covered in blood. The sarong around your waist was soaked through and clung to your legs as you walked. Your hair was plastered to your head and little drops of blood dripped from the tips. In the light of the fire, I could see that not only was your face lined with scars but your chest and arms were seamed with deep furrows now caked in blood. You were a monster. I tried to pull away, too scared to scream, but the ropes held me in place. Your face was a perfect, expressionless mask as you reached down and cut my bonds again. You stepped past me, not saying a word, and slowly lowered yourself to the ground. You leaned your back against a log, your chest heaving in great, big breaths. “Rest child,” you grumbled. “You are safe now. I will take care of you.” And you have taken care of me. I don’t know if my father commanded it, or you took it upon yourself, but from that day forward there was hardly a time that you were not nearby. Our people have always been a warsome people, and I have come to realize that my father is a weak king. Over the years we have faced siege from rival kingdoms, invasions of bandits, infestations of wild beasts, and gods know what else. Through it all you have come to my aide, saving my life and adding to your scars. You were a monster. But, you were *my* monster. Which is why it hurts me deeply to have to write this. The enemy is at the gate again. My father, the King, is drunk or cowering in his throne room and my mother is dead. It is left to me to save the kingdom. Not save it for the King--this castle can crash down around his crown for all I care--but save it for its people. If I do not do anything the people, *my* people will die. I have decided to do the only thing I can do to save my people. I am going to unleash you upon our enemies. That is why I asked you to take a message to the Keep Commander. If you were here with me you would never let me go, and I have to go. I am going to offer myself to the enemy King. Surely he will believe holding the princess will give him influence over the King. This enemy King will either take me to lay claim to the throne or kill me to crush the heart of my father. He does not know that my father cares only for himself. Nor does he know about you. But I know you. I know that you will come for me. You will come to either rescue or avenge me and whichever it is, you will destroy this enemy king. I know what it is I ask of you. I know, as I write this letter, that I betray you. I hope you know how this breaks my heart. But my heart, while broken, is steadfast in its purpose to save my people. I need you one more time. Once more I need you to be a monster. My monster. My scarred man.