Closer she moved to Razkar without hesitation, fine trembles still racking her thin frame. Though she sought to bury her face against his neck, his chest, anywhere that she could lose herself in the comforting scent of him, she felt her chin being tugged upwards gently and had no choice but to comply.
His gentle words, though his voice still sounded like rocks crashing over one another from being woken so harshly from his sleep, soothed her soul to some degree. If not only in the words, in the tone. The violence of her dream was brushed aside by it.
Weakness was something that, though she loathed it now, she would be thankful for later. If somehow her strength and prowess were to come to her without bells and bells, days and days of work, she would be ill prepared to handle it and all that came with it. Being dropped into a body with all of the physical fortitude and abilities in manipulating Djed of which she could ever dream or imagine would be a shock to say the least. She would have no grasp of what she was capable of, none of the respect that came with having to earn it, every bloody advance and success. She would never have tasted the sour bile of making mistakes nor the sweet treat that came with a moment of victory. Every skill would be but a blacksmith's greatest weapon, not a tool crafted and shaped by the woman herself.
A surprised gasp fell from her lips as his fingers found the scar his own gladius had carved. Blue eyes fell to the scar, and then returned to his glittering black eyes. Each of his following words struck a greater impression in her mind as they were paired with the stark visage of the scar upon her honey-toned skin. It was a patch miraculously without even a single freckle.
Looking back, it was almost funny to her how that single moment where his blade entered her body had caused so much good to happen. If she had not found herself on the edge of death, they may never have come to admit their feelings for one another. Well, the probably would have but by then Razkar would likely have been far away, searching for Ayatah without her to have talked some sense into his thick skull. Without him stabbing her, she would never have had the need to get over her fear of horses by purchasing Jorven, nor set out across the continent to see Zeltiva. She never would have learned hypnotism from a Dhani, faced a hoarde of Yukmen, learned just how much strength she did have... Most of her greatest adventures would never have manifested if he had not seen no way to end that fight than to kill Ekvan by stabbing Edreina.
Funny how the world chose to work.
Ragged breathing hitched for an instant as he surprised her with a kiss, stealing her away form introspection and worrying over the future with so simple a gesture. It reminded her that there was so much more to life than fear of the future's violence. "You're so far from unworthy of my love, Razkar... I do so hate when you say things like that..." she whispered, trembling fingers rising to trace his collarbone. As much as she hated to wax on about how amazing he was, to her, there were times when even he needed to hear it. May her teeth rot from her skull at such sickening sweetness.
"You are strength and courage when I falter, the will to go on fighting when I fear how a fight may end. You're the assurance that no matter who I eventually become, I'll still be me... And I will still have your love." She smiled slightly and kissed his neck. Alright, it may not have been the sickly-sweetest thing in Mizahar, but it was the best she could do. She snorted quickly through her nose, rolling her eyes. "I used to worry that I was unworthy of your affections... but look at us? We are made so differently that we can do naught but fit together perfectly. Your strength is where I am weak and vice versa."
With the fear fading, she was left only with a stomach turning lack of surety.
"I..." Her voice caught and her throat bobbed. "When I killed those men in the mountains... those bandits... I remember it as clear as day. I remember struggling, striving against them. I remember what it felt like for their bones to shatter and life to leave their eyes..." The memory of it, flashing behind her eyes, tormenting her, all of it brought back the dream and what had caused her to wake so violently. "What happens when it is all easier? Will I no longer remember each life I take? Will they cease to have meaning to me?" Such a concept was horrifying to her. It was bad enough coming to the realization that one day, she would be forced to kill, to fight when her live was endangered and walk away victorious, gods willing. But she took a sick sort of comfort in remembering the lives she took, so that their death would be something she learned from and was able to grow because of. Maybe one day she would be able to avoid a fight, avoid a slaughter if she could recognize what preceded each in the future.
But, this would be impossible if each death became nameless to her in the future. If she lost sight of who she was in the process, life would be unbearable and she would likely go mad.
Looking up at her lover, Edreina shook her head apologetically. Surely, no matter his heart, a warrior so great as Razkar saw her fears to be petty. He had been born among death and violence, among blood and gore; it existed in his soul and his nature. He did not fear forgetting each death; he had a scalp on his cloak and a skull on his back to prove each one. It was torturous that Edriena wanted to remember the faces of each she killed and the struggles that lead to that moment, but it was what she needed to be at peace. Before she could halt her own words, she asked in a voice so very small, "Razkar do you... do you remember the men you killed? Or do they just become a skull on your back?" It could have been worded better but in the heat of that moment, it said exactly what was in her heart.
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