[Shujaa] - Show of Strength
I sit, and wait. Have I prepared all I must? Blades sharpened, arrows coated with venom. Songs have been sung, the dances been done. The hot, dry wind blows over me, I feel the sand under my armor wear at my skin. All has been prepared; I know when my prey will come. Tomorrow, the hunt will end.
My mind wanders, even as my eyes remain vigilant. A traitor, she called me, the daughter of the sands, and I could not deny. Did Sheshafi see me as such, too? One who does not fight for his people, one whose only loyalty is to himself? Once, I was. I took the egg out of fear, for myself and for her. I kept her out of duty, because she gave me her love, the daughter of the god, and I gave her of my own, as well. The dead will not care for my reasons, or my words. Perhaps I could have fought with them, and we could have won. It does not matter, now.
Here I am, in a land of heat and death, the bones of those who die that others may live litter the ground, bleached white. I see the dry, stiff grass wave, hear it rustle; hear the cries of hunters and the screams of prey, all watched silently, I do not care. My task must be done, it is more important to me than the life of some fool wandered too far, lured away from safety.
She judged me, Asali, daughter of the sands. Her hand on her blade, my story from my lips, she heard and knew what I had done. I yet live. I was a traitor, but I have been given a new life. Once I might have drawn my own blades, and fought her for my own life. Perhaps I would even have escaped, or killed her. She hunts her own prey, ordered by her people. She will not fall in a far-off land, where none shall sing her stories, or remember her name. I will make her prey my own.
My eyes catch a flash of white from the side, and I turn, drawing my blades. Fur, like the snows of Winterspring. Another hunter looks back at me, teeth bared. Eyes hungry, he shows his wisdom and cunning, now that surprise has been lost. We move warily, circling and watching, waiting. Asali’s words come back, a brief memory. “I found him lost, and for that strength I did not slay him.” I grin, smoothly sliding my blades back into the harness across my back.
“Show me,” I say, beckoning to the cat. We roar.
My mind wanders, even as my eyes remain vigilant. A traitor, she called me, the daughter of the sands, and I could not deny. Did Sheshafi see me as such, too? One who does not fight for his people, one whose only loyalty is to himself? Once, I was. I took the egg out of fear, for myself and for her. I kept her out of duty, because she gave me her love, the daughter of the god, and I gave her of my own, as well. The dead will not care for my reasons, or my words. Perhaps I could have fought with them, and we could have won. It does not matter, now.
Here I am, in a land of heat and death, the bones of those who die that others may live litter the ground, bleached white. I see the dry, stiff grass wave, hear it rustle; hear the cries of hunters and the screams of prey, all watched silently, I do not care. My task must be done, it is more important to me than the life of some fool wandered too far, lured away from safety.
She judged me, Asali, daughter of the sands. Her hand on her blade, my story from my lips, she heard and knew what I had done. I yet live. I was a traitor, but I have been given a new life. Once I might have drawn my own blades, and fought her for my own life. Perhaps I would even have escaped, or killed her. She hunts her own prey, ordered by her people. She will not fall in a far-off land, where none shall sing her stories, or remember her name. I will make her prey my own.
My eyes catch a flash of white from the side, and I turn, drawing my blades. Fur, like the snows of Winterspring. Another hunter looks back at me, teeth bared. Eyes hungry, he shows his wisdom and cunning, now that surprise has been lost. We move warily, circling and watching, waiting. Asali’s words come back, a brief memory. “I found him lost, and for that strength I did not slay him.” I grin, smoothly sliding my blades back into the harness across my back.
“Show me,” I say, beckoning to the cat. We roar.