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It takes Saxa a long time to unlearn war. Especially when it rains, and she relives the day, seeing him wounded on the ground, drawing breath for the last time. The man wasn't dear to her, not as he was to Agron or to her late Gannicus, but he had given her life again, and purpose, and seeing him lie dead felt almost as if those things were being taken from her again. Only the presence of her brother and her lover managed to calm explosive anger. She had wanted to kill many romans then.
She still does. But what she wants more than their blood is Belesa by her side, friends close to her and a place to call home.
Many years pass, and Saxa sees Agron and Nasir with their goats, Laeta pregnant with a man of her own choosing who truly loves her, and even manages to bury the hatchet with Sybil. But, most importantly, she sees her dear Belesa, by her side in bed, in her arms, every morning as she wakes up and every night as she falls asleep. It is all she needs.
Today, Laeta's daughter turns five years of age. A beautiful gathering of close friends is expected, as are gifts, of which Saxa knows nothing. Blessedly, she has Belesa, much more creative, much more womanly than herself, who understands what Laeta's young girl would love on her birthday. Despite her inquiries, Saxa is still left in the dark about the nature of the gift, but her lover's gentle smile assures her that whatever it may be, it will be beautiful. And that she needn't spoil the surprise at all.
That doesn't stop Saxa from spying on her. Not maliciously, and she is certain that if she were to catch her in the act, Belesa would only laugh and smile at her in the way that makes Saxa feel important. Watching Belesa when her attention is otherwise occupied is already her favourite activity, so it isn't any harder to do than usual. Saxa has vast experience in admiring her lover.
She figures the nature of the gift easily enough: a wooden set of five dolls, all accompanied by colourful dresses to wear. It is a lovely gift. But the picture of Belesa, sat against the thin tree they planted together a decade ago and skillfully carving the wood or sewing the miniature dresses, is even lovelier.
Belesa's talent with the knife did come as a surprise to Saxa, but a pleasant surprise, that left her warmer than before and unable to focus on anything but her carving.
As she watches Belesa working, it becomes clear that, to her, watching is sacred, almost a need. Just a glimpse of her lover is enough to instill in Saxa the calm that only comes when you love someone and you're loved in return. But she sometimes feels like she needs to see Belesa, to admire her, to simply watch her live her life, regardless of whether it includes Saxa or not. It is a privilege when she has her eyes on her and every time she marvels at how she can bear the times when Belesa is not in her view. For, even if she has the memory, it pales in comparison to the real thing.
And all the watching pales in comparison to Belesa's warm arms around her. Or her gentle voice in her ears. Or her sweet kiss on her lips. Or her heartbeat underneath her ear. Contact. Touch. And the sight. If before it was steel and blood, wounding and killing, now it is all her senses directed at her lover, for her lover. The senses, which are said to aid you in perceiving the world, have transformed Belesa from the object of her affection to her whole world. And should her senses ever not find her, Saxa fears she may turn mad, like the poor souls who can't tell what is from what isn't.
Thankfully, she has no reason to fear. Belesa is always close. Always just a kiss away.