Savage

      The sky is tightly covered with blue clouds. Not a single ray of sunlight except for the scarlet sunset strip. Phongsakorn spends this evening peering into the distant horizon beyond the edge of the mountains. An evening which doesn’t differ from the previous ones. But once everything was different. A few years ago… “Ah… It’s you, khun…” “Why do you flinch every time I touch your shoulder?” it sounds near the temple when the young man’s hand touches the shoulder.       Phongsakorn would have answered, but only his voice trembles on the first syllable, his heart sinks to his knees, and most of all he wants to turn into a small grain of sand, invisible to the sharp gaze that rams the soul. Well, what should he do if all his fearlessness and all his courage crumble to dust, as soon as the heir and the hope of a future united kingdom appears next to him. And how else? Phongsakorn knows how many pair of eyes of both genders are eager to be honored with at least a fleeting glance of the young master. “Khun Kornwit, if you’ll excuse me,” Phongsakorn makes an attempt to retreat to the shelter aka run without looking back, “I’ll go.” “It’s been so long since we’ve talked to you,” a hot, firm palm falls back on the shoulder of Phongsakorn, who is barely restraining trembling, “stay with me for a little longer.”       He nods, bowing his head obediently. Not knowing what to expect next. Kornwit continues to stare at him, which makes him even more confused.       Phongsakorn never considered himself handsome. Truly beautiful for a man and a warrior. Too soft, almost girlish features. Dimples, certainly playing on the cheekbones, one has only to smile slightly. Except for the well-built body and the height. His master, on the contrary, has manly, sternly beautiful cheekbones, sharp, resembling a wild beast, look. He is not so tall, but he is strong in the shoulders. And the hands deftly wield both a sword for battle, and a bow, and a whip for a horse. Once it was so familiar to hold on to them… But everything has changed. “Look, there are ashes all around, and it’s found a way to life.” Phongsakorn does not immediately understand what it is about. He watches the graceful long fingers — and you can’t say that they are so strong — and they pluck a bright yellow allamanda flower and stick it just above Phongsakorn’s ear: “Flowers in your hair look good on you… I noticed it then.”       Then. Phongsakorn knows what his master means. He himself often, even more often than it should be, until the scratches in his heart remembers their common then.       It was evening and there were mountains. There were two of them. And there was a whole wreath of allamanda flowers in his hair. “You remember that time too, don’t you, Phongsakorn?”       Kornwiit finally removes his hand, allowing him to exhale. But it doesn’t get any easier. Once upon a time, Phongsakorn safely hid these memories in the depths of his heart. He was sure that they belonged only to him. Will the young man next to him remember how they were once friends with a boy from among those who were trained since childhood to give their lives for him and for the future of their people without blinking an eye?       As it turned out, he was wrong. “Do you remember the first time you beat me with swords?”       He’d rather forget. No, not because he was punished for humiliating the son of the leader with defeat. Their king. But because he became an involuntary witness of how Kornwit was slapped in the face and roughly shaken several times by the collar, hearing an insulting “what a shame!”. Then he didn’t know what to do. One part of him really wanted to comfort the young master, who was struggling to restrain sobs of resentment. The other part of him was afraid that by doing this he would humiliate Kornwit even more. To his good fortune, he nodded to him and walked away. “Yes, khun. I’m still ashamed of that offense of mine.” “Ashamed?” Kornwit raises one eyebrow. “What is there to be ashamed of? It was a fair fight won. You fought very bravely.” “I shouldn’t have forgotten who my opponent is.” “Otherwise? Would you fight half-heartedly?” “Maybe.” “And would you lose both my and your own respect?”       Phongsakorn is not with the answer. He just looks down again. He knows that he lost no less then. It was one of those cases when his pride and friendship with the young master turned out to be on the scales, which was subsequently destroyed anyway. “Can I give you some advice?” “Why do you ask? You are my master. Everything is allowed to you.” “Really?” the palm lying on his lap is covered by another, thereby forcing the heart to freeze for the umpteenth time in the evening, “really everything?” they clarify in a hoarse whisper.       Phongsakorn nods. All the words break against this darkened look. “Do not hesitate and do not slow down with a sword in your hands. Whoever is standing in front of you. Do you hear me?”       Another nod. The palm in the trap gets wet so that moisture seeps through the coarse fabric to the knee. “All right. Well,” Kornwit rises first, and Phongsakorn immediately jumps to his feet. it is not permissible to sit with when your master is standing. “It’s getting dark. See you soon, Phongsakorn.” “Have a good sleep, khun,” Phongsakorn prayerfully folds his hands and bows his head. “I wish I could dream about that night in the mountains,” Kornwit winks at him before disappearing from sight.       Phongsakorn sinks back to the ground. Closes his eyes. And on the underside of the eyelids, memories of six years ago begin to float.