Digging Up The Past (Ari'Yahal)

[Hirem]

Hirem felt much better once his story was finished, though he still needed time to stop the shaking that had arisen in his body without his consent, so strong was his grief. It was cruel to demand attention from Ari'Yahal to his own sadness, but it spoke volumes of her, and Hirem saw her in a much better light than the one he had of her when they first met. Sure, they had been both Benshirans, but they didn't have to be friends, or companions.

She was comforting him out of her own choice now, and he was grateful for that. Indeed, even her words about punishment brought comfort to his wrecked soul, and he found it easier to smile now in the quiet air of the tent. He wanted to be punished for what he had done; better to be punished and let the crime be resolved than have blood on his hands and never answer for it.

Before he could stop himself, he started wondering about Ari'Yahal's past, and what had brought her to this point in life, a single mother with a young son that had no father around to guide him. She admitted that the father was dead, and a Rapa to boot, which only drew more of his curiousity to the subject. A Rapa husband was rare, not unheard of but rare. Hirem knew that his uncle was a Rapa and a husband, but he hadn't seen his uncle in some time. Ari'Yahal seemed to have a far greater burden on her soul, if she was the widow of a priest. Another feeling of guilt washed over his stomach, and he regretted the decision to tell her this story once again. Still, it was all out now, and Ari'Yahal now felt pity for him, such was the consequence of the tale.

Food was a welcome distraction from the rising wave of memories that had flooded into Hirem over the past few chimes, and he accepted the trencher gratefully. "I was ready to eat when I first saw that hare." Now that the story was finished, Hirem was eager to move onto other topics, and food always proved to be a good balm for a tight lip. He quickly got out of the tent, taking a deep breath of the air like he had never breathed before. It was like a great weight was slowly being pulled off his lungs, giving him a new burst of life into his body.

However, he didn't ravenously tear into the food as he had expected he would have done. Now that it was in front of him, and the watchful eyes of the women that had cooked it were upon him, he could only take a few tentative bites as Ari'Yahal asked him her question. He thought about his answer for a few moments before swallowing his food and opening his mouth to speak in a relaxed manner. "Well, I wander around often, sometimes on my own, sometimes in the company of fellow Benshirans or humans. It really depends on who I'm with, really."

He gestured around the campfire at those who surrounded him, forgetting the fact that he was not speaking solely to Ari'Yahal anymore but to everyone gathered around the fire. "If I'm with those that do not share my heritage, I often respect the Masha in the private time I get, remembering tales of gatherings past and thinking of the future and what Yahal intends for that future. When I'm in a Benshiran tent, I often share stories. Not because I'm good at it, but because I'm horrible at dancing and singing!" He laughed out loud, his own way of lightening the melancholic mood between him and Ari'Yahal.

[Ari'Yahal]

Hirem's voice cut through the women's chatter, and many of them stopped talking to pay attention to what he was saying. When he laughed self-deprecatingly at his own lack of traditional Benshiran skills, Ari'Yahal couldn't help laughing too as the image of the giant man attempting one of the customary dances flitted through her head. “Somehow I have a hard time imagining you putting on scarves and bells and prancing around,” she said dryly, taking a mouthful of food. “I don't believe that you can't sing, though. Everyone knows that Benshirans are the best singers in Mizahar.” She grinned at him, and this time her smile held real mirth. Although the shadow of their previous conversation still tugged at her mind, Hirem's casual attitude was making it easier to enjoy the evening.

“You say you tell stories, though?” she mused. “Well, now that you've let that slip I can't let you get away without sharing a tale with us.” Other evenings around this same cookfire, she had been the one to entertain the women with stories when conversation lapsed. As a child, she had listened, spellbound, to her grandmother spin out traditional fables about Biyram and his sons. Grandmother Ilana had had an endless repository of tales, and Ari'Yahal would often sneak into her grandparents' tent after she was supposed to be asleep and beg her grandmother to tell her one last story. Ilana's almost lyrical retelling of the tales and the soothing, slurred sounds of Shiber, whispered as Leth rose in the sky, would lull her to sleep and follow her into her dreams. Fifteen years later, when Raziel was born, she would rock him asleep while murmuring snatches of songs and fables into his tiny ear.

“Are you going to tell a story, Hirem?” Raziel asked, his eyes alight. “Momma's told me all the ones she knows over and over, when we used to keep the Masha by ourselves in the desert. It gets boring sometimes.”

Ari'al rolled her eyes at him. “I do my best, you know.” She turned to the other women and held up a hand. “Shush, everyone. Hirem's going to give us some evening entertainment.” Ari cocked an eyebrow at him, as if to say, Well, you did bring it up. “You're not going to disappoint us now, are you?”

[Hirem]

Hirem knew that by admitting he told stories would get a story from him, but he was still unprepared when it was his time to tell a story. Raziel had said that he had already heard all of Ari'Yahal's stories and chances were that he knew the same stories. He could always tell a tale of his own travels but none of them seemed exciting enough to tell his audience here. The only thing that leapt up into his mind was Ahnatep, but Hirem had told himself that he wouldn't speak of his time in that dreadful city.

But... what if he didn't tell them the truth? A scheme leapt up into his mind, and he found himself smiling as he thought of what he would say. He was an honest speaker, but he was telling a story, not telling them of his past. Would lying be acceptable? Despite his own reservations, he found himself agreeing. "Very well, I have a story for you. A story of the ruined city of Ahnatep, the land of the Eypharians. A story of a festival of death."

"I found myself in that city some time ago, trying to see the world and get some work while I was at it. And Ahnatep was a sight to see indeed. The city was practically in ruins, but what remained was gilded in gold and shining for the heavens to see. The Eypharians themselves were all in lavish clothing with paint on their faces and gems in their skin. It was a strange time for me, so out of place was I in that leisure city."

"Yet I managed to find work as a guard for a group of maids, servants to the Pressorah herself! They lived in a beautiful garden surrounded by stone and marble, watched over by Gardeners, the guards that I wanted to work with. Their leader was a large Myrian named Zulo, and he told me that if I wished to work as a Gardener I would have to prove my worth in the Festival of Dira, a festival dedicated to the goddess of death."

"The night of the festival came, and it was like I was transported to some other world. We all wore masks of the finest variety, masks that depicted animals and beasts and spirits. I stood there, watching the maids as dogs raced past me on one end, a horse chatting to a butterfly on the other end. There were lights, foods, paintings all of the most exotic make. At one part of the festival, some people were being turned into works of art themselves, their very bodies illustrating stories and lore that have long been lost to time itself. I even saw a woman, floating on butterfly wings, with a leathery tail and hindquarters. And all of this action was watched over by the Pressorah, sitting on a golden throne with a serene mask hiding her face."

"But as the festival wore on, I started to find something odd going on. There was a man at the festival, his eyes sparkling out behind a jackal mask, was standing near the back, watching, always watching. He stood there for hours, simply watching and waiting for something. I was curious, and tried to engage him in conversation, but he never said a word to me, ignoring my very presence and concentrating on the festival. He was a large, stocky Eypharian man, his four arms all folded across as he waited."

"And then, I saw him start to move into the crowd, and I found myself drawn to follow him, despite my duty to watch the maids. I started to make my way through the gathered people and festivities, my eyes fixed on the retreating form of the jackal. Soon, he stopped, and I hurried over to see what he was doing. He was talking to a man in a butterfly mask, and I could barely catch their conversation. 'There's a man outside that wants to talk with you, Jibade Osahar. Please, follow me.' The jackal said, pointing to the outskirts of the party."

"'Jibade Osahar?' I thought, trying to stay hidden from the jackal. Jibade Osahar was a prominent person in the court of the Pressorah, a noble from a House of the Four Winds. Naturally, my curiousity was barely sated by this realization. 'Why was he seeking Osahar?' But I didn't have the answer for that, so I could only watch as Osahar refused his request, and he turned away from the jackal. And then the jackal pulled forth a knife."

"'An assassin!' I was shocked by this revelation, and I knew I had to do something, or Osahar would get killed on the festival floor. I leaped forward, and tackled the jackal down to the ground, trying to wrest the knife from his hands. We crashed into a table filled with exotic foods, with olives and fruits flying about everywhere. The festival-goers seemed to all gasp at the same time, and attention was immediately drawn to our battle. I wrestled and grappled with the jackal, but he was a strong opponent, and nearly got close to stabbing me with the knife a few times."

"Suddenly, I felt strong hands grab me from behind, and I was wrenched from my opponent by more men in jackal masks. The jackal man stood up, and accused me of attempting to murder him. I was shocked as I realized that these jackals were the guards and lawmen of the city, and I could only stay still as I was dragged off to prison."

Hirem paused his story, combing through his mind for a way to continue the story. The story and all the fabrications of it had come easily to him as he wore on, and he felt that he could tell the rest of the story with confidence, with an added bonus of getting the story of Ahnatep off his chest.

[Ari'Yahal]

A hushed silence fell over the others as Hirem began to narrate his tale, the words flowing smoothly and instantly from his lips as if divinely inspired. A strange smile played over his face, and Ari'al felt a jolt of an emotion she couldn't quite place strike her as she caught sight of it. Up until this point, she had considered Hirem to have his heart in the right place; he had been good to her from the beginning, though he knew nothing of her or Raziel before they happened upon each other by the oasis. If their places had been reversed, Ari certainly wouldn't have offered aid to a man she had never met before, but Hirem had not hesitated to do so. And, although she knew from experience that many who aimlessly wandered the desert were a few brain cells short of sane, Hirem didn't seem to fit that mold. But that smile – there was something decidedly odd about it, and her mind wandered back to the 'horrible path' he had mentioned before. With those words lurking in the crevices of her thoughts, she rested her chin on her knee and listened to his story.

Ahnatep. A strange city for a Benshiran, to be sure. Far from home and far from the teachings of Yahal. She had met few Eypharians in her life, and those with whom she had come into contact had looked down at her from heavily-painted eyes, their statuesque bodies dripping with gold, jewels, and palpable contempt. What had Hirem been doing in such a place...?

He was a gifted storyteller, that was obvious. His descriptions of the lavish city drew her in, and her mind's eye conjured up an image of the strange juxtaposition of the crumbled ruins and the people who lived in them, a people that gloried in ornamentation and dissimulation. Curious, indeed. It was like the Eypharians, she reflected, to throw a festival in honor of Dira when death was already ubiquitous in the desert. Why have a celebration for the Queen of the Dead when she brought such sorrow wherever she went?

With each word, Hirem pulled her farther into his exotic tale as he described the strange man in a jackal mask who stood alone at the festival. She listened, entranced, as the villainous Eypharian pulled a knife on one of the Pressorah's men and Hirem leapt into his path, tussling with him in front of all the masked revelers. A collective gasp could be heard from the women around the cookfire as Hirem recounted his realization that the man wearing a jackal mask had been a guardsman, and that he had been carted off to jail after being accused of attempted murder.

But his story seemed at odds with the tale he had told her in her tent, when he said he had been doomed because of his unspeakable actions. Yet now he presented himself as a hero. Which was the true Hirem?

She felt a worm of guilt snake through her and mentally berated herself for doubting him. After all, no man was simply a villain or a hero. It was certainly possible that Hirem had the capacity to do both great good and great evil. And she had asked the Benshiran man to tell a story, but never did she say it had to be a true one, after all. The point of a story was to entertain, not always to tell the truth.

Yet if Hirem was lying, he was damn good at it.

“That's not the end, is it?” Raziel asked excitedly as Hirem's pause grew longer. “What happened next, Hirem? How'd you get out of Ahnatep?”

“Yes, do go on, Hirem,” Ari'al urged, echoing her son. She couldn't deny that she wanted to know the ending to such a suspenseful story.

[Hirem]

Hirem was pleased that the others seemed to be impressed at his retelling, and that made him much more confident in his retelling. He had a painful ebbing in his heart, one that was born of guilt and doubt. He knew that he was telling a lie, but the damage of that lie was mitigated by the fact that he was telling a story, and stories were supposed to exaggerate the truth. He supposed that Ari'Yahal could put the pieces together that he wasn't telling the truth, but there was no harm in doing this. Hirem continued his story with bright hopes.

"I was locked in a dark cell, kept under tight supervision in the Courtyard of the Jackals. I spent a long time in that cramped little square room, the only source of light coming from a barred window high above my head, the only food mere scraps of bread and a few drops of water. All around me, I heard the squabbles and jeers of other prisoners, criminals, murderers and rapists. They all knew where they were destined to go, and so did I: Hai, the jailhouse of our own designs. Hai had been repurposed by Eypharians a long time ago as a place to store criminals and vagrants, and eventually we would all go there. Time would tell if I was sent there or not."

"Then, one day I recieved a visitor. She was a friend of a maid that I had befriended during my time as a Gardener, a friend that had come bearing a gift. It was a hard little piece of bread, almost like a stone in it's density. I accepted the strange gift and the woman left almost as quickly as she had arrived. It was only when I tried eating the bread that I discovered what lay inside: as I was biting into the crust, I felt myself to be sinking my teeth into something very soft, very squishy and very disgusting. Almost instantly, a wave of horrible nausea swept over me, and I realized that embedded into the bread was a poisonous seed."

"A few days passed before I realized what the gift meant, and suddenly my spirit rose to the high heavens as I discovered what to do with it. Outside my cell was a particularly vicious guard, one that prided on misery and cruelty, especially my own. If I was laying on the floor sick and weak in the knees, the guard could not resist walking over and kicking me when I was done. I had to watch the guards schedule though, and the entire plan relied on that man's cruelty. Still, it was hope."

"The day came, and I was alone with that guard watching over me. I ate the entire poisonous seed, hoping that my own resilience would save me. Instantly, I had fallen to my knees, choking and turning red in the face as my stomach burst into pain and agony. The guard saw this, and from what I could tell, had a horrible grin on his face that stretched from ear to ear. He opened up my cell quickly, and stepped into it, taking his time to deliver a rib-shattering kick to my stomach. I took the blow in earnest, but in truth I was saving my strength to bring down the man. He delivered a fierce volley of blows and kicks that I could only barely stand, and he took the time to gloat after each one."

"After a particularly nasty hit to my jaw, he bent down right in front of me and laughed in my face. Quickly, I wrapped my hands around his throat and started to press down, using my remaining strength to smash him up against the wall. The seed was vicious at first, but after a few minutes the pain dissapeared, and I was able to regain my vitality. The man fought back ferociously, but I managed to knock him into unconciousness, and he passed out in my arms."

"As quickly as I could, I dressed in the guard's armor, and made my way from the cell as fast as I could. I kept thinking that someone was going to notice me and kill me right there, but I managed to keep up the ruse as I left the Courtyard of the Jackals. From there, I ditched the armor and tried to regain my strength, and plan a way out of the city, for I surely needed to leave it as soon as possible."

[Ari'Yahal]

Ari'Yahal kept her gaze fastened on Hirem's face as he continued to narrate his tale, watching each twitch of an eyebrow and tilt of the neck as she tried to glean more out of the story than Hirem was saying with words. The way emotions played out across his face was just as telling as the words he chose to convey his tale, she knew. He seemed to grow more confident as he spun out the events of his story, his voice growing larger and more expressive.

The tale grew no less dramatic as Hirem related the horrors of the cell in which he was imprisoned. Ari'al shuddered visibly when he mentioned Hai, the city of the accursed and destitute. It was the sort of place that was less a reality and more a myth; when she had been a little girl, her mother had threatened to pack her off to Hai when she left the goats unmilked or spoke rudely to her straight-laced grandfather. She leaned forward towards his voice, waiting to hear if he would escape the prison before being sent off to Hai, the point of no return...for once a man went in, he never came back out.

She glanced to her side to check Raziel's reaction. His mouth was agape in wonder, and his bowl of food lay forgotten in the dust. A slight smile pulled at the corners of her lips. The ability to lose himself completely in a story...that, at least, was a trait he had inherited from her. She felt gladdened at moments like these, when she saw hints of herself crop up in him; he was his father's son, at least at first glance, but peel back the layers and she could find vestiges of herself marked upon him.

Ari shook that thought from her mind and turned back to Hirem, who was now describing a strange poisoned seed with which Fortune had gifted him. Yet another strange twist to his tale; so far, he had used brawn, not cunning, to further his story. As he narrated his escape from the Ahnatep jail, using the seed to feign illness, the gears in her mind ground together as she considered the story in its entirety. It had many aspects of a typical folk tale, she reflected: the brave hero, the masked villain, the false accusation, and the deus-ex-machina of the poisoned bread. But again, this was no real reason to suspect that Hirem wasn't telling the truth: surely there were many myriad details he was leaving out, for reasons of his own. Yet she still had a feeling, coiled deep in her gut, that there was another important piece of the story she had not figured out.

As he came to another break in his tale, some of the other women began to drift away, back towards their tents. It was growing colder as the day's heat was leached out of the sands, and deep violets were beginning to mute the fiery colors of the sunset. Raziel scooted closer to her, curling his small body up next to hers, and her fingers stroked the fine softness of his hair.

“That was masterfully told, Hirem,” Ari'Yahal commented. “If indeed you were done? Is there more to the story that you haven't told us yet?” Her first meaning was clear: she was asking if there was another segment of his tale following the escape. But she was also digging for information about the truth of the tale itself. Perhaps he would pick up on that. Perhaps he would not, because perhaps there was no untruth in what he had told. Suspicion was causing slight furrows to form on her forehead, although she did not notice this; she had never been good at keeping a straight poker face.

“Did you really smash that guard into the wall?” Raziel asked, his voice full of admiration. His question was interrupted by a sleepy yawn halfway through, which he tried to suppress; he clearly did not want his mother to notice and send him to bed. He kept his eyes trained on Hirem, hoping the man would feed his imagination with more heroic tales. Whether Hirem wants it or not, he's got himself a sidekick for the next couple of days, Ari thought wryly as she waited for him to respond to their questions.

OOC :

Aaaahhhh. I am so sorry it's taken me this long to respond. School is kicking my butt right now. I'll try to post more frequently than this in the future!

[Hirem]

Hirem nodded at the questions that had been posed to him, and was about to continue when he realized that Raziel was yawning. Immediately, he became concious of his surroundings, and realized that it was getting close to nightime. He knew that he shouldn't keep Raziel up past his bedtime, but the young boy was enraptured and wouldn't leave without an ending. He nodded, and smiled at Raziel. "Yes, I did. I had to escape see, and the man more than deserved it. And indeed there is more to the tale. Listen, and learn of my escape from the city."

"I placed myself into hiding for the next few weeks, keeping to myself and plotting a way out of the city. The gate was out of the question; the guards would surely notice me if I went that way. The sewers, while a viable option, were not particularly helpful to me, as there were some scum too dark to exist in the light that hid there. If I went down that way, I would not survive long unless I was extremely lucky. And so far, luck had not helped me too much."

"Then, one day, I woke up far earlier than I usually did, and decided to wander the city in the early morn. While most slept, I wandered the twilight streets and thought intently on my plans. As I neared the main gate, I saw someone that had just recently entered the city: she was a young Benshiran woman, beautiful and vibrant. She held a broken bow in one hand and led a sturdy desertbred horse with the other. I was interested in seeing another Benshiran here, so I waved her over and greeted her to the city. We had a pleasant conversation, and we were just about to make our way into the city when it happened."

"Some ruffians had approached from behind, and were attempting to whisk away her steed. They did not count on her turning around and spotting the deed, and she was very, very outraged. She rushed over and started yelling her head off, getting ready to heave rocks at the men. I was worried of the scene attracting a Jackal to it, so I rushed ahead and placed myself between the criminals and the woman, trying to calm them down. Too late, I noticed the armoured guardsman that approached on horseback with a bow and arrow already stringed."

"He let the arrow fly, and the bolt pierced through my leg, drawing a cry from my lips and causing people to start shrieking. I started to limp away into the alleyways of the city, leaving the woman and the ruffians to scatter and go their own way. From what I could tell, the guardsman had considered the woman to be my accomplice or malcontent in arms, and started to chase her as well. My hope was that they would chase me and not her, as I was the one that they wanted."

"The alleys of Ahantep are a twisted, dirty mess through a half-collapsed city, and I soon lost the guards in the maze. I then retraced my steps and tried to follow the path of the woman. At first, it seemed I had lost her path entirely, but I managed to find a cloak of hers and I knew that I was on her trail. I soon found her without her horse trailing the streets as well, and we managed to find shelter in a half-collapsed building. She was angry at me for getting her into this mess, but soon sobered up and helped me treat my leg wound."

"When night came, we took to the streets again, and made our way to the collapsed part of the city in order to find a way out. We had to escape from Ahnatep soon, and it was best we did it as soon as possible. We made our way to the wall, and found that it had sunken in farther than the other parts of the wall. Sunken in far enough to climb. We were about to attempt the climb when the ruffians from before showed up, intent to take something from us."

"The woman ran away, and I was left to hold them off. They came at me in droves, intending to beat me senseless. But I held my own, and I managed to take out a few of them. My fists flew as hard as I could throw them, slamming into body parts and knocking heads off their hinges. The fight was still brutal, and by the end of it I was bruised, bloody, and ready to pass out. But I had to find my companion and escape the city, or all would be lost."

"I found her on the rooftop of a nearby building, preparing to jump the gap between the roof and the wall. I warned her that it was a foolhardy plan, but she proved me wrong by flinging herself across the gap, latching onto the edge of the wall like some climbing animal used to the task. She pulled herself up, and it was up to me to make the jump. I prepared myself for it, but I still felt weak and close to unconciosness. But I had no choice. Running as fast as I could to the edge, I leaped up into the air and sailed on the breeze, rushing towards the wall at an alarming pace."

"I slammed into the wall like an insignificant bug and slid down the surface of the wall, finally stopping when my fingers found a handhold in a crack. My hand screamed out in agony, but I held the position and slowly started to crawl up the wall, my body roaring out in protest. It was slow, grueling work, but eventually I managed to haul myself up onto the wall. Me and her managed to make our way down the wall together, and so my escape from the city was complete. Me and her parted ways after that, but I will never forget her for aiding me in that venture."

[Ari'Yahal]

Raziel looked on intently as Hirem confirmed that yes, he had played the valiant and clever hero to escape the Ahnatep jail. His eyes held a faraway look as he no doubt tried to imagine the opulent alleyways of the gilded city in ruins, and with them the throng of people that came with such places: Eypharians, Benshirans, and Chaktawe all thrown together with other bizarre creatures he could barely begin to visualize.

Hirem resumed the rhythm of his tale once more, his voice rising and falling with the intensity of the action he narrated. The escape, of course that came next. After all, a convicted criminal couldn't just walk out of the gates whistling, could he? It made sense.

But the events that came next were just as fantastical. A madcap chase through the winding back streets of Ahnatep? What would come next? She had expected a quiet denouement to the story that ended with how Hirem came to be traveling with the caravan. He can't expect me to believe all this? Ari thought, raising a hand to her mouth and chewing pensively on a fingernail.

Her eyes drifted back to her son's face, and a thought suddenly crossed her mind as he uttered a hushed “Oh!” of surprise at Hirem's depiction of the Jackal guard who shot him through the leg. Her suspicions over whether Hirem had been telling the truth or not had been, perhaps, pointless. His tale, she reasoned, had been meant to entertain Raziel and the children of the other women who had chattered around the cookfire. Had she been reading far too much into a story that was simply meant for children?

She continued to listen as Hirem narrated his daring escape from the golden city, accompanied by his spirited Benshiran companion. In that unnamed woman she recognized herself when she was younger: the vibrancy, the stubborness. The naïvete.

“You speak with such vibrant words, Hirem,” she commented as he closed the next chapter of his tale. A slight smile played around her lips. “What an exciting life you lead. Yahal has sent you many adventures.”

“Hirem,” Raziel interrupted, his face quirking into a question, “how did you get here? To the caravan?” The wondering look apparent in his eyes gave away the thoughts behind his question: why was Hirem here instead of going off having more marvelous adventures?

[Hirem]

Hirem had expected to finish his story after escaping Ahnatep, but Raziel's question was a valid one, and he tried to come up with a suitable ending to the tale. He could tell them another fable, another exciting adventure to entertain the young man, but he had lied enough. He had already covered up the real events of the Festival of Dira, and making up another story just wasn't in his stomach right now. No, he would have to end this exciting adventure on an anticlimax. Not very appropriate, but he couldn't come up with anything.

There was something good about ending this tale off, though. He was able to take a look back at what had happened to him in the past year, and he could finally appreciate what life he had lead. Sure, it was filled with tragedy and he regretted almost all of it, but it was certainly more exciting than your average shepherd's life. He didn't lust for adventure, but he didn't hate it. Attempting to strike down the evil Eypharians, escaping from their dungeons and the city itself, it had been very exhilarating from start to finish. He definitely wouldn't miss it, though.

"Well, after I left the city, I ran into a bit of a problem. My leg wound was acting up again, and it had gotten infected at some point during my travels. I started to get very thirsty and weak, and only with great difficulty could I find my way to the Redstone Cliffs. By that point, the heat had started to get into my head, and I was starting to hallucinate. I collapsed by one of the rock formations and rested my head against the stone, trying to die in peace. But my salvation had arrived in the form of a slender Chaktawe girl, one that came bearing herbs and aid. She tended to my wound and let me rest, saving me from certain doom at the hands of the desert."

"After she saved me, I parted ways with her soon after and made my way back into the desert. I wandered the sands once again for an entire season, encountering no one but the occasional animal or traveller. But my isolation was soon coming to an end: while I wandering the endless dunes, I came across a large rock plateau with a cry for help being shouted out from the stones. I quickly dashed up the side of the plateau and raced up as fast as I could up to the top of the rock face. A small woman was holding on to the rock face for her dear life, and she was about to fall when I showed up. She let go of the plateau and fell into my arms. I had saved her from being dashed across the surface of the rocks below."

"To put it short, that woman was Dhanya, and she was grateful enough that she invited me back into her caravan to rest and re-supply. I heard that they were going to Yahebah, so I decided to stay on and return to the city with the rest of the group. So, that's how I got here. That's my story."