[Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

[Zaira]

Her eyes blinked again moving to the edge of her vision to see Abashai motion towards her. The man seemed in content to leave her be in the silence she was happy to sit within.

Her body straightened as the woman sat back, her head turning to regard the man that sat not far from her. She had not noticed his nearness until her name had passed from his lips. Looking now, her eyes and memory pieced together the scene quickly behind her eyes. He was offering her now a share of his provisions. They were defiantly more elaborate than hers and while not meant to offend, the offer only served to remind how meager her own had been. IT was such a strange place to be, she was not one to be rude, yet she was inclined, not to accept/ be it pride, or annoyance, she would be behaving spitefully. Or like now, like a spoiled over indulged child.

Even as she admonished herself, Zaira’s eyes softened with the mental cry contrary. She was behaving like a sullen child, it was true, yet she had her reasons, any one of them surely was reason enough. Her expression changed against, another degree of sadness, but no longer was she apart in a world of her own. From Abashai’s spread she plucked a fig cake slowly bringing it near her lips before pausing, her eyes raised from the sands to look to her companion as the fire light danced over them.

<”Thank you.”> The words were less formal this time. Even now like freshly wakened her gaze was not as fleeting as before, but all the same her eyes lowered and the cake was slowly brought to her lips to be bitten into and chewed upon thoughtfully.

[Abashai]

Abashai glanced at his reluctant companion out of the corner of his eye. He bit off another piece of the tough meat. The quiet between them felt awkward to him, though Zaira seemed to prefer it. She had appeared perturbed when she looked at the food he had laid between them. Ever the proper Benshiran, she was polite and thanked him anyway. The woman's voice was a degree less strident, more relaxed, as if finally accepting Abashai's insistence on sharing a camp. Her crystalline blue eyes met his, maybe a bit less hollow and indifferent, holding for a moment this time before breaking away. It spoke more than her words that his presence was accepted, if not totally welcomed. He was satisfied that she was eating and decided to leave her to her thoughts.

Abashai turned back to his meal with earnest, tearing off a piece of flatbread and devouring it. He stared into the fire, his weary eyes glazed over, images in his mind superimposed over the flames. He realized he hadn't counted days since he passed by the Keerdash Grove. The wet sands there brought forth lush keerdash, deep brown-barked trees with long, vibrant red leaves. He had had past dealings with the Tatsuwaat Chaktawe, who tend to center thier travels around the grove. A people pefectly adapted to the desert, with beautiful copper skin and dead black eyes, they had permitted him to get water and rest. The Tatsuwaat were somewhat more agreeable than their brothers to the east and north.

He stole another surreptitious glance at Zaira, picking delicately at the fig cakes. If her travels were leading her north also, she would not be safe. Wolves, sand rays, Chaktawe raiders, Dhani. There were many dangers between here and Cyphrus' border. His thoughts stalled. Cyphrus. He had never consciously decided to go that far. It was a foreign land, at least to him. But it seemed right. It appeared now he had some direction. Thanks Yahal.

He wanted to ask Zaira which way she was headed. If her destination were the tents toward Yahebah, he could offer to escort her back. If she were heading north, well, he would inisist on escorting her.

[Zaira]

Only silence came from the woman, her thoughts before, had not been thoughts, but silence, she had simply existed and moved through numb routine in her wait for the morning sun to return and to continue on upon her journey. Yet there she sat in the warming glow of the fire, her stomach filling fuller than it would have in most cases and felt warmth, of less to do with the heat of flames and more to do with perhaps having another to speak to. As much as it seemed she despised the opportunity there was a difference from having someone to interact with compared to, having no one.

And the more he lingered, poked, spoke, the more she was forced to acknowledge he was around, nearby, and very much alive. And again it was like an awakening, the filling of a shrunken dusty water skin anew.

She shifted. Stirred in her place, testing the aches and pains that seemed to slowly come to surface. She sighed shifting her shoulders; she looked to the male not far from her side as the last bit of the fig cake disappeared from the tips of her fingers past the softness of her lips. Yes, he was indeed still there.

Her voice still held a rasp of disuse, yet the tone had indeed gentled.

<”Dear Sheppard without flock, where do you believe Yahal to lead you?”> the gentle tones, held the stirring semblance to mirth, abet long unused there was a teasing lilt to her words as if a bit of humor seemed to bleed in from the situation or thought to ride upon the night winds with her voice.

[Abashai]

Abashai shook from his musings at the sound of Zaira's voice. He was pleased to hear the gentleness in her voice, so different from the hollow tone of her words at he first greeting. The subtle jibing was not lost on Abashai, and his heart lightened also, anticipating the opportunity to converse with someone.

He mulled Zaira's question over for a bit, trying to frame an answer, the answer to a question he had hesitated to ask of himself. <"I do not know the place he leads me to, if you mean what land or city."> He paused, glanced up at the stars, then back to Zaira. <The place he leads me to is one within myself."> Yes, it sounded strange and evasive, even to himself, but it was the best way he could describe it. <"I think he has pointed his finger in a direction, and I head that way. It seems he is pointing away from the lands of our fathers. So I ride away.>

His head turned back toward the fire. Abashai was not an devout follower of Yahal. After the debacle of his masha trial and he fled into the desert, a bitterness toward Yahal grew. The following ten years, he paid lip service to their god, participating when invited to mashas, even playing music during the times of worship. But his heart was not near the Holy One. It was not until the last great sandstorm and the wisdom of an old Rapa that opened his eyes. Though Abashai had tried to forget Yahal, the god did not forget him. Now, he is trying to find his way back on Yahal's path.

He looked back at Zaira with a small, smirking grin. <May I ask, dancer without music, why you travel the Burning Lands alone?>

[Zaira]

Blue eyes regarded Abashai, long after his own turned towards the fire and lost himself in the dancing flames and thought. He had no thought or idea how deeply those words he spoke with uncertainty and his own wonderment thrummed through the woman. His admission, was it not unlike her own, did she not chase after those fields of green she spent days lying upon when there should have only been darkness and death?

She blinked at his smirk as the wonderment passed as the man woke from his thoughts yet his question had the woman drawing up; her eyes were upon the traveler with anew curiousness. How did he know, was a curious thought, yet plenty of her sisters danced, as some sang, and herded sheep. It could simply be a stab in the dark, or had something given away the one thing that still existed that allowed her heart to soar if she’d only embrace it once again.

Her eyes shied away from Abashai, she mulled the reactions, to shut down and turn away from the man at her side, to harbor the pain like a prized gift, or let it free, and perhaps have it lesson like a pile of salt given over to the arid desert breeze. She was quiet for a moment looking away; it seemed almost that the dancer had indeed shut herself away again before her voice slowly filtered through the night air.

<”My intended, was struck with an illness that ate across his form, it made him weak and killed the attendant that helped in his care. After that, the tents moved him apart from the rest, and I took over his care. He passed the night the caravans moved on, when I fell into the darkness, I laid in sweet field of green where the breezes gentle and kind, spoke. I travel with our lord where he bids, towards the fields of green, wherever they lay.”> Zaira did not look upon Abashai as she spoke, aloud, she realized well how her words sounded as if she had been affected by the sun too long and fell into the madness.

After a moment she took a date from her hand and softly bit into it.

<”Besides, Natlick is good company.”> At the sound of its name the horse near the water’s edge whinnied and the soft smile returned to the dancers face.

[Abashai]

Abashai gave a quick smile as Zaira's horse seemed to affirm the woman's compliment. His smile faded somewhat as he reflected on her story. So, lost love was the culprit that stole the joy of this desert sister. He felt sorrowful for her, but could not empathize. He understood loss, but he had never been betrothed, never even close. He had all but left the tents of his family, wandering on his own. That did not make for an appealing son-in-law.

His curiosity was piqued by the bit about laying in a field of green. Not even the fertile vineyards and orchards around Yahebah boasted tracts of grass. Maybe she had traveled too much today, saw too much sun. He wanted to ask, but her diversionary comment about Nalick and the subtle smile indicated to Abashai that the subject was now closed.

He finished the last piece of his dried meat before speaking up again. <"So, we are both prodded by the invisible goad of this God of ours."> He looked back to Zaira and smiled again. <"Perhaps we shall be goaded in the same direction for a while."> Though his suggestion may have inferred some ulterior motive, Abashai's intentions were far from dishonorable. Zaira had nothing to fear from him. The prospect of traveling with someone else for a while just sounded like a good idea.

[Zaira]

Zaira mulled over the words, her face was thoughtful as she chewed, and quick fingers plucking another fig cake as the man’s words tumbled through her mind. It did sound much like the male testing the sands to see if his continued presence would welcome, and honestly… she did not know.


She was alone because she would not ask any other to follow her on the path she was being led, yet now, someone was asking, to join her. Or at least travel with her until their paths separated them from the other. Alone with a horse and the endless sea of sand left only memories and pain to circle and stew, to grow more potent and corrosive. She grieved it was true, but she was under no stipulation to banish herself from others.
<”We, shall see.”> the voice said a bit slowly as she still pondered, to deny the man his suggestion, the reason to, or simply to accept what would happen for what would happen. Her head tilted, siding her hair to fall along one side of her body. <”We shall see.”> The words were said stronger this time, more accepting in what may or may happen.

[Abashai]

The Benshiran's response left him a bit uncertain. One thing he did note, her words and the certainty in her tone hinted at a woman with much more strength than the stumbling waif he had first observed. In fact , Zaira must have possessed a great measure of inner strength. She has suffered a tragic loss, all that mattered to her was taken from her. She could have curled up in the shadow of a rock and prayed for death. Yet she is here, with only faith in Yahal to guide her. Abashai was suddenly overwhelmed with respect for the woman.

He decided to leave her answer in the air, a sort of prayer from both of them to their god, leaving it in his hands to work their paths, whether they converge or diverge at this oasis.

Abashai stirred from his seat at the fire, returning a few moments later with his oud. He lightly strummed the instrument, making minor adjustments to its tuning. He began to strum a tune, one with an encouraging but mellow melody. He stopped suddenly, remembering his manners. He looked over at Zaira, seemingly lost in thought as she gazed into the fire, her long hair concealing much of her face. <"Do you mind if I play?">

[Zaira]

<”No, continue please.”> Zaira’s face turned slightly to look back at the Abashai. The Benshira was being full of surprises, not uncommon, yet refreshing all the same. Her words of encouragement were soft spoken, while she was by no means in the mood or spirit to dance, even for prayer, music though, was like waters for the spirit.

A light quirk of her lips gave a brief smile to the oud and its player before her eyes turned back to the fire, her fingers reached down to touch the cool sands, her fingers playing in the sand drawing swirling designs as she listened.

<”Abashai, my friend, what do you know of the lands beyond the burning sands?”>

[Abashai]

The ould's music subsided to quiet, simple chords that seemed to retreat into the background as Abashai spoke up. <"What I know, I learned from growing up in Yahebah, or from the traders who cross the sands from Ahnatep. They talk about a land beyond Eyktol where the earth is carpeted with tall grasses. They say the people are nomadic like us, but wander on horses and that their city moves across the plains."> Staring into the fire, Abashai tried to imagine the massive sea of green, a giant city of tents.

<Beyond that, a place where men have built a great city, where an order of warriors are building a nation like the ones of old. After that, great forests and mountains."> He wondered if he would ever see them. <"I've heard tales of places far stranger and unnerving than these. How far to you plan on traveling, sister?">