Stonehenge's blog: "London"

He now knew why she had shouted.  The sound of metal sliding along metal.  He had heard it in many forms, on many battlefields, in many eras.  It was a sound that any soldier no matter his background could forge.  He moved just as the round passed his heart.  It wouldn't kill him; but slow him down it would.  Looking against the darkness he could see many signatures.  Their lifeforce had been conceiled likely by fairy majic or so he guessed. 

He dodged another round; concentrating he focused a force or destructive power toward the closest hunter.  Nothing happened.  His mind should be destroyed.  A lifeless vessal.  Yet he could see the weapon raised and firing.  The silver rounds sliced through his arm nearly tearing it off at the joint.  Through the pain and confusion he ran like an animal still hearing her voice in his head. "Run" 

His mind blank.  The chase was on.  (cont.)

Finding himself speachless for the fist time in two thousand years he did the only thing he could do.  Stand and stare.  Those green eyes searched a soul he believed lost.  Could he have moved if he wished.  Likely not.  This was a moment that he wanted to remember for the rest of his long extended life. 

She broke the truce.  He began to speak when she silenced him ever so gently with a solitary finger to his lips.  He could taste her.  Warm milk and vanilla with something more.  A hint of the wild.  She was his.  Slowly and ever so gently she moved her finger to glide down his chin and then chest leaving a heat that caught his breath.  Dear God he thought I'm breathing.  He almost remembered the sensation before the change.  Her fingers slid casually down the silk of his dress shirt lazily unbuttoning each until his chest stood naked to the stars. Closing his eyes he prayed that this moment could last forever.   

"Run", she shouted.

Startled, he opened his eyes.  Where she stood was a jaguar tearing through the now empty dress.  He found himself unable to move as he locked eyes with those briliant green eyes.   (cont.)

The Pub.

Cheers! The clock tolls five...

Winters slumber within the den,

arise fair folk for the day is end.

Put down your paper and pen,

to Audley pub we shall head.

Cheers? To friends, foes, and jesters alike...

Mistress of drink a Stella please,

Merriment and laughter put all at ease.

A Pint, a Pound, and a Crested Crown,

as I order from the mistress another round.

I have to say that the pubs of London were more than I expected.  The beer tasted sweeter and the ambiance felt of home.  How we live such provincial lives here and they live so much more there.  The Stella was by far the best of their brews, London Pride was a close second, with Guinness third.  I can't wait until next month when I return to the land of beautiful women and fine cars.  God put Britain on the map so that others could be taste their drinks.  Cheers to all my pub mistresses...