Dionne stopped as well. It was a pretty sad story, but then again she had her own expiriences with "knights" and "soliders" and so she didn't pitty him for it.
"Everyone is as useful as they make themselves. If you were a solider, it's your kind that ruined me, yet I've rebuilt and grown above it." She tried to keep her voice calm, even if there was a slitghly of sadness to it. Taking a deep breath, she continued;
Kyle wasn't surprised to hear the woman had bad experiences with soldiers. Everyone did, it seemed.
"Well, when you take away his armor and weapons, and leave him to starve for a week or two...it becomes pretty easy."
"That's not the only reason you're a pushover now, girly-locks." The voice snickered.
Kyle didn't respond. He just rubbed his forehead with his hands. It was true. Some of his later experiences in the war had made it difficult for him to fight others, even a mugger. Truth be told, he could have easily defended himself, even in his weakened state. But he had killed too many people already. He didn't want to add any more bodies to his conscious.
"It's a miracle I've even been able to survive this long." He whispered.
Begining to walk again, Dionne wondered on what was just said. Seemed there was something that the solider wasn't telling her, but she was like that too - and she hated when people would dare to push the issue therefore she didn't.
Kyle dragged his feet along. He was able to keep up with her, but only just barely. The weeks of starvation were catching up to him. If only he had a canvas to play with. Making art always managed to keep his mind of his troubles.
As they emerged from the thickness into a less forested area - most small bushes have been cut down, even some smaller trees. A tall oak however, seemed to have thick lining around it, and that's where she stopped.
It wasn't impressive in the slightess - a self-made crude shelter, but it got her by. Inside, one a line woven from the surroundings, hung some rabbit and squirell meat ready to be cooked, and a small pile of rocks. She made sure to clear up after each fire, just in case someone would find it - and having a fireplace would be one of the easiest things to spot.
It wasn't prefectly conceled that much was true - but so far it worked for her, and she was feeling a little bit sad knowing that it was her last moments at the place. It counted for her as settling down and it was upsetting to know she was going to be on the move again.
With her eyes beginning to water, she made the best effort to not let her emotions into her voice as she spoke.
"Go get me some firewood, and I'll deal with the rest..."
Kyle thought he heard her choke up a little bit, but said nothing. He was too focused on the thought of possibly for the first time in a long time. He gave the place a quick soldier's once-over. Not the best shelter he had ever seen, but not the worst either.
He gathered some wood, silently wondering if he could use the charcoal to make a picture afterwords. Always thinking of ways to make some art.
"It's just that..." He began, but his voice caught on something. He felt a lump in his throat, and tears began to well in his eyes. The memories of his friends, now long gone, filled his mind. Finally, he managed to speak again.
"I haven't spoken to a person in so long."
"That's not true, you've had me to talk to."
"Shut up." He whispered through gritted teeth. He shook his head. "It hasn't been easy. And it looks like you haven't had an easy life either. I was just wondering how you did it. Or if you somehow learned not to feel lonely, ever."
He watched the fire crackle and burn for a moment, feeling its warmth wash over his face. One could see the lines of years of hardship etched on his face as he absentmindedly scratched the stubble on his chin.
"Thank you for your hospitality. I didn't realize you lived such a hard life, otherwise I wouldn't have burdened you."
Drawing her bow, Dionne slowly took aim. She heard people like this before, and she knew what was going to happen next.
"If you think you'll be able to take advantage of me by appealing to my good nature, you're out of luck" She growled, beginning to regret her apptempt at being nice. It did cross her mind, that all of the socialising she was doing, began to make weak.
"I don't have it hard, I survive, and I'm used to this. Nature takes good care of me."
Kyle continued to stare at the embers, watching them dance and burn. Nature always made the most beautiful art. He paid no attention to the fact that there was an arrow pointed at him. If he was going to die, he wanted to die looking at something beautiful.
"Are you going to kill me?" He asked quietly.
He could tell that there was pain in her past. He wanted to comfort her. Assure her that he didn't mean her any harm. But he knew she wouldn't listen. No one ever did. Maybe that's why there was a war to begin with.
"I would have liked to have made one last work of art." He thought wistfully, as he stared into the remains of the fire.
Kyle didn't answer right away. He slowly reached out to grab a piece of charcoal. It was still warm to the touch, but not hot. He began to draw on one of the stones, often switching to using his thumb or knuckles to smudge the drawings and refine them. It looked as if a small, black cloud had appeared on the stone, and then the cloud kept swirling and swirling around, becoming clearer and clearer. Within a minute or two, he was finished.
It was a picture of a woman, wearing an elaborate dress. She looked as if she was dancing, yet her face looked sad, as if she had lost something precious. It almost looked lifelike, even though it was just charcoal on a rough stone.
"My mother." He whispered. "My last memory of her. Before she died."
He smiled, ever so slightly. The charcoal reminded him of the coal mines his father used to work at. His father had adored his mother, so much. Even bought her the dress, which cost a fortune. It seemed poetic, seeing his mother drawn in soot. Almost as if his father had come from the grave to express one last breath of love for his mother.
"This art...it's all I have left. It's the one thing that can't be taken from me."
He took a deep, shaky breath.
"I wasn't completely truthful with you before. The real reason I keep getting mugged is because I could never bring myself to fight back. I had a...certain experience in the war. One that shook me deeply. I couldn't fight after that. I couldn't bring myself to hurt another person. So, after the war ended...I turned to art. It helped."
He lifted up his head, and looked the woman dead in the eye. His piercing ice-blue eyes met hers.
"I don't know what kind of experiences you've had with...my kind, before. But I can promise you this; I never intended any harm towards you. I was just tired and hungry, and hoped that you could help. That's all."
Kyle returned his gaze to the drawing he had just made. He felt sad inside. But also, a little glad. He wasn't sure why.
Turning her gaze to the fire, she thought about what he just said. Without an obvious reason to lie, he seemed truthful to her - Even if she didn't want to believe him.