Turn Away [Maurice]

[Serasia]

20 Summer, 511

The northern edge of Ahnatep was uncomfortably far from the cool breezes of the coast. The air began to burn even at dawn, in the growing heat of the young summer. But there were no temples to Serasia’s patron goddess, in the city; it would not have been appropriate to build up a structure in her name, no matter how glorious. Semele’s temple was the earth, the sands beyond the city and red cliffs of stories, the black hills and cold mountains that sometimes came to her as shades in reverie. While the Eypharian was only capable of worship beneath the city’s watchful eye, she still delighted in the escaping to its outskirts.

Far enough from both civilization and the repulsive Pillars of the poor, Serasia sat straight-backed in the hard sand with her closed eyes facing north. At her side lay a gilded blade which she barely knew how to use, but which warned a wanderer of the consequences of disturbing her. Her hands were stacked over each other in her lap, limp, save for the uppermost one, which clutched the raw ore of an emerald. Her painted lips said nothing. Her colored eyelids did not falter in her concentration. The stone would soon be fashioned into a beautiful piece of jewelry in honor of the goddess, but first it required Her blessing.