by Tari Gwaemir
"I am known to night and horses and the desert."
"I only wanted to ask--"
"You're wasting valuable training time, you know."
"Would you still marry me, if I didn't become Shaman King?"
Anna turns around, her long hair swinging out behind her. As ever, she holds herself like a queen, her very feet imperial, her fingers regal. He wonders if she expects him to kowtow whenever she looks at him this way, as if she were a judge who found him less than worthy of her consideration.
"That question makes no sense. You will become Shaman King because I'm going to marry you."
She looks him in the eye, an uncompromising gaze. But nonetheless he sees the softness in the faint curve of her lips.