Ramil remained motionless waiting for the wind to die down and watched as the man on his sword crumpled over the blade. He could see the life wither from the man in the shape of wisps emitting light and smoke, they were golden with hints of gray. Ramil let his weapon down slowly and watched the last of the man’s life seep into the sand in which he came to rest. The glow and misty tendrils began to pool like a cloud around the figure before seeping into the sand below Ramil’s feet. He bathed the blood-soaked sword into the hot sand below and wiped down the curved blade before sheathing his weapon away into his fabric belt. Glancing toward the stack of empty and plain paper he was after, he stood and retrieved the dry parchment. Ramil returned to his steed, a dark black beauty with points of glistening white that was shaped after Lyra, their constellation that they called home in the mass of galaxies strewn throughout the night sky.