<table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>(http://www.dfwd20.com/photopost/data/522/medium/Human_Fighter1.jpg)</td><td><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: edwardian;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 2.65em;">Alfreic Slate, Soldier</span></span><br/><em>To G. Brun re: M. Brun; to Kolette.</em><br/></strong><hr/>With great vividness did Alfreic imagine himself leaping from his horse armed with his beautifully crafted longsword (a heirloom from his storied family) and sinking steel into the gullet of that most lecherous and foul man, one Mr. Brun.  He imagined the blood coursing like living streams from the sides of his mouth, and the creased stillness of a face full of panic.  Alfreic could even hear the familiar crunch of the blade breaking ribs as it plunged inward.  But that stout and wide-shouldered patriot couldn't stop his imagination there.  No, Alfreic gleefully imagined slitting Martin's throat, cutting the shepherd girl in half and then slaughtering the gaggle of women, too.  And, for a moment afterward, in the instance that a man shakes his head at a dream to ask incredulously why he could ever dream it, Alfreic was afraid of himself.<br/><br/>The horseman opened his eyes and simply watched Brun walk away, but he could not say that he could tolerate him.  It was at that moment that Ms. Kolette spoke to him, and Alfreic found himself turning Hornet about so that he could face her.  She spoke to him with a sense of familiarity, but he didn't really know if he knew Kolette, or whether or not he enjoyed her presence.  He listened to her speak very carefully, and then, shook his head to indicate an accord.<br/><br/> "Aye, madam--but to say that the rapport is but off-putting is to think very little of such a fearsome thing,"  he said, mildly.    "I am afraid that I have forgotten your name, Miss...?"<br/><br/></td></tr></tbody></table>