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Deor

DeorShe slept now, breast rising and falling, even and slow, eyes flickering beneath their lids. He whispered her name, but she didn’t stir.

Brushing strands of hair from her eyes, he kissed her soft cheek and then rose quietly from their bed. He pulled on his dressing gown. Barefoot he left the room and walked across the hall to the room where his pen and paper lay on his table, waiting for him. He closed the door behind him, found the lamp, switched it on, pulled out the chair and sat down.

He picked up the pen and wrote:

Me waes Deor noma

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