Zealot would not walk near Amye. He had said something he could not take back, but did not know how to follow up. He was more worried about that than enemied. He had trained all his life with weapons, not words. He knew how to kill an enemy and how to kill a whole brigade, but not this.
"Maybe the monks were right..." He thought to himself. "Maybe I am only made for killing, for death. Maybe I am just a weapon... Maybe I am an affront to He Who Judges All... I don't know any more..." He thought as he kept looking at Amye. Her hair swaying back and forth as she walked. The way she held her shoulders when she walk to show how pround, powerful, and secure she was... Her hips, how they moved back adn forth in a hypnotic way... "Why am I looking there?" He thought as the creeping red began to take his near-colorless skin again.