[Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

[Zaira]

Season of Summer, Day 58 507 AV
[Flashback] Private, Tag: Abashai

Night had fallen although truthfully she neither noticed nor cared. The scorching sun, the chilling nights, they made no difference to the woman when the pain within burned hotter than the flames of the sun, and chilled colder than the winds on the sand. She only rested when the horse that carried her moved forward no more, she only guided towards the distant fields of green she saw when her eyes drifted shut, and sleep came to claim her. Yahal cared not for her sacrifice when he had taken back his gift of Ahmen. Her thoughts that day that she sat within the tent with the body of her intended were still as firm as the sands that slipped past her fingers.

Blue eyes slowly blinked, taking in the fact she laid upon warm sands, still cooling in the night air. The veiled figure slowly pushed herself up to her knees and numbly looked around. She did not walk, she gave over all that she had owned to the flames, and then to her saviors. They in turn gifted the young one with a beast, and supplies despite her words. In the distance, tall trees and bushes grew and slowly the woman made her way there, one step before another. She was not surprised to find the horse already at the oasis, chewing idly on a small patch of grass, probably having already long drunk its fill. It was not the first time the creature had abandoned its rider outside of a oasis, as if to wake the woman, and pull her back to her feet. Once she even suspected the creature purposely allowed her to slide from its saddle and slip into the cool pool it had sat itself beside.

Yet she did not curse the creature, going as far as to thank it and Yahal often for its gifts. The horse of the nomads seemed to know well where to lay, and when to rest when it’s rider did not. Oblivious and slow in step the figure past her beast with a hand reaching out to stroke its head in her passing, before collapsing to her knees by the waters edge. Hands moved tugging aside the Abaya that covered her face and hair her hands reaching for the cool waters to bring life back to parched lips and let it wash over her skin. Skyward the girl looked, she no longer cried as she looked up to the skies, but looked up to the stars in silence for long moments before looking back to the water before her and drinking again.

[Abashai]

Finally. Thank you Yahal, Abashai spotted the darkening shapes that broke up the rolling dunes and rock outcroppings. He had only been this far north a few times and was not sure he could find the oasis before nightfall. He had found it, none too late. He would have to navigate the rest of the way by starlight. He gazed up at the bright pinpoints of light, spread out across the vast desert sky like a jewel-encrusted tent, hiding the blazing sun and bringing the cool night air. His desertbred mare, Sus, must have sensed the waiting water, as her tired paced quickened in the direction of the barely visible squat shrubs and palms.

He leaned forward and patted the horse's neck, lathered with sweat, and whispered encouragement in her ear. He had had the horse for less than a week, a gift from some generous families who gave him supplies after he lost everything in a fierce sandstorm. The sandstorm. It was a Hika-Zulrav, possessing all the wrath of the storm god. When it was over, all that was left were his father's penita scrolls. Yahal would not let Zulrav take them from him. He imagined it was like the storm that took his parents. Zulrav and his winds had taken much from Abashai.

As they approached the oasis, Abashai dismounted and led Sus through the brush surrounding the pool. Abashai was anxious to quench his thirst, tired of the stale, lukewarm water in his waterskin. Emerging from the foliage, he immediately saw a form kneeling by the waters edge, and a horse beyond. He was not alarmed, it was obvious the figure was a Benshiran female, even in the dim starlight. She wore an Abaya and scarves, he heard the tinkling of the metal discs that adorn her headwear. Delicate hands cupped the cool water and brought it to her lips. He stopped a respectful distance from the woman.

"Excuse me, My name is Abashai." He used as soft and non-threatening tone as he could, hoping not to startle her too much. Maybe his Benshiran name would assure her he was not Chaktawe or Eypharian.

[Zaira]

Water slid past her fingers returning to the pool as a voice spoke. Eyes rose and searched the darkness for the voice, the man and his horse had neared with her none the wiser. Zaira looked upon the figures, before her eyes lowered to the cool pool and a hand rose up pulling back on her mask before the dancer slowly rose.

<"Rest, and have care for you and your horse, Abashai.> The voice was soft and delicate as the form shrouded in her veils heavy steps took the woman near to her own horse laying her head upon the beasts as her hand rose up to grip its reigns.

<"I am Zaira."> The woman watched Abashai a moment as she began to lead the horse away a bit, further down the bank until it seemed the creature no longer cared to walk or stay upon its feet, but lowered itself to the ground, perhaps to the muted distress of its rider.

Zaira looked at the beast a moment before simply moving on, too many times had this happened for her to try and fight the beast, but lowered herself to unpack and saddle the horse before sitting there at its side looking at the water. The man was not important, although he unsettled her yes, but distantly. He was as alone as she, and surely that spoke of ill. Coupled with his shortened name, as short as that she had given him in turn, no proclamation of family or lineage, simply who they were at that moment.

Yahal would not lead this far to allow misfortune to befall his child, surely. Yet the ways of men, and the ways of their god were not one and the same. And still yet it could not be messages from Yahal she received but grief given dreams of madness and flame that guided her step.

Her eyes closed to the thoughts, blotting out the night sky above, and reflected in the cold waters. The sands as well as the trees around. Darkness, even behind her very own eyes was a terrifying thing now, and while the cold did not numb her, the fear of the night, sleeping, and the like did for the darkness it brought, for the uncertainty it held, like smoke blotting out the sight, and the way the mind seems to fall, into an endless, dark night.

The woman moved once more sorting through her things and began to gather the supplies she would need to make a fire this night. The man and his horse, they were not forgotten, but the fire was first, its warm glow to fight back the fears that came forward when the sun and light faded.

[Abashai]

Abashai watched as the woman, appearing at the point of utter exhaustion, led her weary mount further away. She could not even lift her delicate feet out of the loose sand as she shuffling foward. In the dim starlight, her flowing garb rustling listlessly in the slgiht breeze, she appeared more like an apparition, condemned to wander the desert for eternity. His heart went out to her. Benshiran women were both delicate and strong, and posessed great inner strength. Even in her despair, she welcomed him to the oasis, as a faithful benshiran woman would. Zaira must have traveled an incredible distance to reach this place.

He saw her collecting supplies to start a fire. He desired to approach her, make sure she was alright, provide a fire for her. It was the benshiran way, we are all part of a greater Tent, even if he didn't have is own. But to approach a benshiran woman alone, outside of the presence of the tents, was usually not condoned. But he could not pray that night to the Hioly One if he did not reach out to this Zaira.

Without approaching any further, he lifted his voice, <"Sister, allow me to provide you a fire. I mean you no harm, and am distressed to see a child of Yahal alone in the desert."> His raised voice seemed a little too loud in the night air.

[Zaira]

The woman moved slowly at the voice almost as if she had not heard the man, or was lost in a dream. Zaira’s head tilted lightly to the side as she looked upon the stranger, and if only he could see beneath her veils, the tired woman spared a smile that crinkled her eyes before she bowed her head forward slightly towards the man.

<”Yahal provides well for his children, but you may help me. With my thanks, dear Brother.”>

The slow motions of the woman returned to the pack, this time pulling fourth a blanket and food supplies. The fear of impropriety being alone with the stranger did not seem to be with the woman, in truth perhaps it had simply faded from her thoughts, it was she alone to remained when Ahmen needed his Tent most, she dared not leave his side for an entire night and so she stayed, their closeness brought her no fear nor shame only deeper gratitude and pain. And perhaps deadened her already lenient adherence to the ways.

She wanted light to hide away from the darkness and the night, find solace in the dancing flames until the run rose anew again. Hands moved with focused concentration upon her task, guiding hands to bring forth the supplies needed. With another it would only be the way to share her fire and her food, a story, a song. Yet even now she had not the heart to raise her voice, and grief too near to tell any story but one.

A wind blew, no uncommon to feel a breeze now that the sun was set and the hot sands turned cool, her hands uncovered her face and hair to feel the cooling wind for but a moment, sighing silently, it was as soothing as the familiar hand of her mother passing through her hair and for a moment sadden eyes were at peace before looking back to the man called Abashi.

[Abashai]

Zaira's voice was quiet and somber, as if it took great effort to force the words to come forth. He turned to his horse, pulling off the saddlebags and supplies strapped to the saddle, then the saddle itself. Sus nickered quietly, as if sighing in relief from her burdens. Abashai searched through his gear, finding the flint and steel set, and gathering a handful of tinder and firewood he had wrapped in his blanket. He selected a location roughly halfway between himself and where Zaira was unpacking some supplies. He glanced over at her, watching as she removed her veil. Now only a silhouette, he could see she lifted her face toward the cooling nightbreeze. There was something in her movement, in her voice, that spoke not only of physical weariness, but of sadness. He wondered what had befallen the woman, who had hurt her, why she now wandered.

He turned back to the task of building a fire, clearing a place in the sand, and making a small pile of the dried twigs and grass in the center of the space. Next, he methodically laid out the few pieces of wood he had selected, from smallest to largest, in a star pattern. Holding the small bar of steel against the tinder, he struck it with the shard of flint. A small flury of sparks shot forth, illuminating his face for an instant with an orange glow. After a few more showers of sparks, the dry grass ignited. Leaning down, Abashai carefully blew on the newborn embers, coaching them into tiny flames that spread to the twigs. A dim glow lit up the immediate area. Soon, the fire was licking at the larger pieces of wood, and the warm glow spread outward, chasing the chilling darkness into the thicket of brush surrounding them.

The firelight stretched forth to lighly touch Zaira and her mount. It was sufficient for him to see more of the stranger with whom he shared the oasis. Her flowing abaya was blue, though dusty. Her hair fell in waves down her back, dark with a hint of red reflected in the light. She was lovely, he thought, even as he saw pain and exhaustion etched into her amber-toned face.

The protection and warmth of fire secured, he stood and returned to Sus, removing her bit and bridle. He pulled a small brush from a saddlebag and carefully began to groom the mare, patting her neck and humming softly to himself. He glanced frequently at Zaira, seeing if she needed help, wondering if she would accept it. He felt as if he should say something, but the words failed. When one's heart is heavy, a waiting ear is better than a wagging tongue.

[Zaira]

Her motions were slow yet steadying, dried meat along with the sweetness of dried dates and a small selection of other fruits and the smattering of nuts was what the woman had to offer. She had with her no cooking pan, no floured wheat or barley to make and share flat bread with her guest. Perhaps the only thing she carried for consumption that was not dry and did not require cooking was the small bundle of carrots. She parted with one and added it to the other food to share.

Dark colored eyes watched as the man went about his making of fire, her hand holding the orange root to the laying horse as it happily crunched the treat. In honesty they were all for the animal, a treat aside the typical feed for one who provided the closest thing to comfort out there alone. The fire took and began to grow, and its creator rose to return to his own beast to lavish it with attention and ready it for the night.

The fire light was indeed a comfort, even if it did dim the light of the stars, with the fire burning she no longer looked to the heavens or their winding trails to the sky. The food wrapped cloth bundle was carried around the warm fire light to the edge of where the dancing light met waiting shadows and there the woman stood raising her eyes to watch as the man named Abashi tended his animal, waiting for his attention to drift before presenting the package.

<”My thanks to you again.”> The fire light now revealed more clearly the features of her companion, the markings upon his face, the unruly curls of his hair, and short beard. He was older as she had suspected, although how much so was harder to determine, there was a confidence not many held as certain before their twentieth year even with a tent all their own.

How easy it would be to give her gift of thanks and retire to her horse, or the fire and wallow in her silence, stare in to the flames and wait like habit for the morning sun to begin its climb, yet she paused still, grief still was no excuse to be rude in the face of kindness.

<”Do you travel, or seek to wander?”>

[Abashai]

Abashai turned to see Zaira standing in the firelight, a clothe bundle in her hands. Benshiran women were quite beautiful, and Zaira was no exception, though whatever weight she carried had left her cerulean blue eyes hollow and distant. He realized she was offering a gift, some of her own provisions. He respected the woman's determination to perform their traditions, even without the presence of tents. it was their traditions that served to give Benshira a sense of control in situations where they have no control.

He took a step towards Zaira. At her question about his travels, Abashai let out a short, ironic laugh. It rung out, sounding inappropriate against the woman's sullen demeanor. <"A traveler has a destination. A wanderer has none. I have a destination, Yahal just hasn't revealed it to me yet. I suppose I am neither traveling nor wandering".> He sounded like he had desert madness. To be honest, he felt very much like he was just wandering.

He made very little eye contact, hoping to keep her at ease. She needed rest. He wondered how long the pain had robbed her of her sleep. <"Your gift is very generous. But perhaps we could share our meal, as we are the fire. I will not pry, nor impose. You have my word as a Benshiran, I wll do you no harm."> Abashai hoped she would accept. Watching her sit alone would be more uncomfortable than sitting together, even without a word.

[Zaira]

At his laughter her eyes raised, the question in their gaze eased from the glimmer of temper, his laughter at her question, rather than her meager offering. It was, strange, perhaps to hear another speak so often after so long. The jovial sound of his voice was almost like the dancing of flames, even as his words were almost certainly madness. If he spoke to another not travelling alone following fields of green in dreams.

Still she relaxed, retreating from that first spark of temper and life that had made crystalline eyes glitter, her eyes lowering as Abashi spoke again.

<"Your gift is very generous. But perhaps we could share our meal, as we are the fire. I will not pry, nor impose. You have my word as a Benshiran; I will do you no harm.">

Her eyes drifted upwardly, curiosity brought light that faded away again as her eyes cut back to the side of the man before her, guilt and pain came again crashing upon her before the woman turned away.

<”I, am certain I am not the most companionable. Yet if it is what you prefer, it is, alright.”> Her words were soft before her step carried her back to the small area beside Nalick where her supplies laid beside the animal. Wary eyes looked up as the large head neared and breath blew from its nose sending small tendrils of her hair playing upon her neck, a small smile came to the woman’s neck as another breath blew against her hair, her hand reaching out to close the distance petting down the creatures head before producing the carrot from her bag and offering the root to the horse. Her hand stroked the desert mare as it ate until the root was no more.

With the vegetable gone, Zaira gathered a modest handful of her own fruit and nuts before slowly rising to go sit in the circle of fire light. She did not look to her companion for a few moments, listening to the fire crackle and slowly chewing the sweet flesh of a raisin in her mouth. It was a mechanical motion, automatonious, with little enjoyment to the task, yet her eyes drifted, there was movement aside the flicker of the flames, or the motions of her horse. They danced on the edge of her perception growing more pronounced to distraction.

Her eyes stole to the Benshiraian man. Soft wondering swirled her thoughts like stirring sands, his words pondered upon. Zaira ate another raisin turning her eyes from the man who seemed to pour out kindness like some say a cloud would deposit rain.

[Abashai]

Abashai freed his mare, Sus, to forage through the oasis grasses. He turned and watched the sullen woman return to her side of the camp. Though her steps were still slowed with whatever great weight burdened her soul, there was a grace to Zaira's movements.

He turned again to his saddlebags, pulling out several items wrapped in cloth. Laying them open, he selected pieces of dried spiced goat meat and some figs that had been pressed into cakes. He unrolled the last package, revealing several flat loaves of bread. He had recently traded a few small animal pelts to a Chaktawe hunter for the bread, which was quite a treat for the desert wanderer. He chose two and laid them with the rest of food. Carefully returning the packages to his bag, he wrapped his share of dinner in a piece of leather and grabbed his waterskin. He stopped at the water's edge, refilling the skin with the cool liquid, and returned to the fire.

Zaira sat by the fire, her eyes fixed blankly at the dancing flames as she picked at her dried fruit. Abashai laid open the leather sheet and set it between himself and the woman, placing the waterskin beside it. He sat cross-legged and lifted his face to the darkened sky. <"Holy One, thank you for providing this place of rest and water, for providing this food, and for the company of this Benshiran sister."> He then chose a piece of the dried meat and began to tear off chunks of the chewy fare and pop them in his mouth, replacing the dry taste of dust with savory spices that made his mouth water.

He was thankful that Zaira was there. True, she had spoken very little, only enough to be polite. That didn't bother Abashai. She seemed more relaxed by the fire, distant but relaxed, and that made him feel better. Even silent company was better than no company at all. The presence of the woman, clothed in her flowing colorful abaya and wispy scarves, made the oasis seem just a little bit more like a Tent.

He motioned towards the food between them. <"Please, Zaira, there is plently for both of us.">