She let him rest upon her, happily released, until his body withdrew itself from her.
A shadow crossed his mind.
That may have been the last time for us.
They lay side by side. A faint light penetrated the bed curtains from somewhere in their room, and by that light he could see her smiling. He smiled back, but his body was growing tense. Fear of what he would face in the hours to come was building inside him.
The face he loved, the warmth of her body so close to his, made him wish he need never leave this bed. His arms and legs felt heavy, rebellious. If he commanded them to move away from her, they would not.
In truth, I would have to be mad to want to go out and butcher infidels rather than stay here with Sophia.
But he could not stay with her. Today would decide everything. He forced his reluctant limbs to push him away from her. She did not try to hold him.
Outside the heavy bed curtains, the air in the room felt cold as death.
Standing alone in the middle of the floor, he felt a sickening void of apprehension in his belly. As Sheikh Saadi had taught him, he faced his fear. He was terrified of death and defeat. Probably there had never been a warrior anywhere in the world who had not felt this way on the morning of a battle. Probably the Prophet himself, before battle, had feared for himself and for those he loved.
I cannot control today's outcome, for myself or for the men I fight beside. But I can dedicate my mind and heart and will and limbs to God. I can fight for Him to the uttermost of my strength. Passive toward God, active toward the world.