The Sunset Samurai

The painter had but the grace of the stars and moon creeping in her paper doors, open to let a breeze in that balmy night. Her left hand sit tucked in her robe top, lazily slung as her right hand gripped a thick brush in it, pushing flowing, thick strokes onto her canvas. Sticky sweat rolled down her as she exhaled hard. Now and again her right palm would curl around the brush, pushing up against an eyepatch on her left eye, adjusting it as she scowled.

A second woman set near her, wearing nothing, laying on a small mattress they shared. She slowly and quietly tended to the painter's weapons, cast aside after the day's training and sopped in sweat. The only sounds made were that of the insects flickering outside, a silence weighing on them both for the longest time.

"Bah!" cried out the painter, in the direction of her companion. The girl remained silent, tending to the painter's gear and listening.

"Bah, no matter how much I paint, I cannot make it was graceful as the lands I see in my dreams. It is fragile, imperfect, it is gross and it angers me I cannot do my visions the justice they deserve!" said the painter, exhaustion and annoyance coating her words like her black ink coated her canvas.

"It taunts me, knowing I could do better, but am limited by how gnarled my hands have become. Perhaps I've been at war too long, but nothing is beautiful. Everything is ugly." Her brush fell out of her hand as she sat down, peering up at her work.

Mountains and trees and rivers covered it, sharp in their lines. A sun peered over them, coating them happily.

"I'm ugly. You're ugly." the painter sighed. "But...Perhaps it's in that we earn our beauty and worth." Her gaze turned towards the moon that hung above them. "I wonder if that's how all the other painters and writers feel."

She stood up, moving to place her lips on her companion's forehead, gentle as could be, her weak hand slipping out of her robe to pet the woman's face, smiling as their eyes met.

"No. I wonder if this is how the gods feel, looking down at us, wondering if they could have done better." whispered the painter, curling her fingers around her companion's hair and slowly making her way back to her canvas, looking at it for another long break of quiet.

The moon gave way to the sun once more, and the sky began to glow on them and warm them. The painter sighed, rubbing her eye again, getting in bed next to her companion after urging her to set the weapons away for the day. They nuzzled and nestled in, the companion held close to the painter's chest and rocked to sleep.

"Sympathy for the gods. Tch." the painter laughed as she said these words up towards the heavens, closing her eyes and sleeping sweet under the summer sunlight.

Words In This Update - 1144 / 1134
Final Wordcount - 50351 by LibreOffice / 50341 by Official NNWM Wordcounter

( ...should probably be left to rot and forgotten as they're probably smellier than you'd think )

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( Chump roll it is a thing that exists and not a joke )

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Total Words So Far - 43006

( Oh no how will she get out of this one )

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Total Words So Far - 40409

( let's getting ready to climax )

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Total Words So Far - 31128

( it appears to be lampshade hang oclock )

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Total Words So Far - 25506

( Ahead of the pack )

Words In This Update - 2088
Total Words So Far - 21126

( I'm so tired )