[quote=@persianversion]
Najla watched quietly, her gaze emotionless as Ketill left, her brother tagging along behind him. She spared no glance towards Yasamin, though Najla could hear the girl. She was sniffling somewhat pathetically, likely from the pain of her eye, though Najla felt no sympathy as a result. She felt nothing. Once Ketill and Basim had moved out of her line of vision, Najla’s gaze moved upwards, towards the stars, though she did not quite see them. Much like Majnun had been abandoned by his stars, Najla saw they brought no direction. Tonight, they brought only madness, for they had left her to her thoughts.

Her bloodline was gone. Slaughtered. The veins of a powerful family had been split open, their claim to the throne splattered along the walls of her home. They had cut her father’s throat like an animal, left him to bleed while they chased after his wife. Her mother, her poor mother, who had never been the same after the loss of her eldest son, she would never be left to live. Najla had never even seen her sister, nor many of her female cousins, but the memories of giggles and gossip would forevermore be overwhelmed by the sounds of their screams. Those, she would always hear. Her brothers, her nephew, family, friends, her [i]uncle[/i].

[i]It was all her fault.[/i]

Najla all but fell onto her hands and knees, taking a deep, shuddering breath as her fists clenched into the sand. It was her husband that had done this, her mistakes that had torn her family to pieces, that had taken all those she loved from her. She only barely kept herself from screaming at the thought, stifling her sob with her own hand. It would be death to scream in this god-forsaken desert, but perhaps death would have been a kinder fate. Najla could feel a trickle of blood as it came from her palm, but it barely registered as she let out another noise of despair, something between a sob and a scream. Hot tears flooded her eyes as the realization of what had happened continued to process, and Najla felt the grief wash over her, drowning her. While one palm stifled her sobs, another dug itself into the sand underneath her, her fist clenched tightly as her nails dug into her palm. It continued in this manner for some time, an eternity to Najla, perhaps mere minutes to the world around her. She did not know. It would not stop on its own. Though the grief might have overtaken her forever, more memories continued to flood in, more vivid than ever now.

She could see the blood that stained her home, her thoughts were filled with the sight of swords piercing through guts and daggers slicing over throats, sights that would churn the stomach for all but the most hardened of stomachs. The sight of her uncle’s throat as it was stabbed through, the sensation when she drove the shard into her husband’s leg, as if she could the flesh of his thigh rip beneath it, the feel of driving a dagger through a man’s neck- it was too much. A sudden wave of nausea passed through her, and for a brief moment, Najla felt as if she might give in to it. By some miracle, the nausea was held back, though it rose dangerously in her throat. Still, she did not rise. She could feel Yasamin’s eyes on her, watching the grief overtake her, but Najla was far past caring. Rather, she tried to steady herself, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. The sobs no longer wrecked through her body, and the tears fell slowly now, as if the sudden show of emotion had exhausted her. They would come later, no doubt, but as she calmed, another new sensation came through her, more welcome than those before.

Pain. She unclenched her fists as she sat up, realizing how tightly they had been dug into the sand. One palm had only the scars her nails had left in, but upon raising the other, Najla merely watched as the blood trickled down past her wrist. She had gripped the shard with little care as to her own pain, and it had cut into her palm rather painfully, as well as along her fingers. She hoped it was worth it. She hoped she had crippled him. After all, there was little more worthless than a Sawarim who could not ride. The rather cruel thoughts did not settle as she moved to open her hand, wincing as she did. Turning her hand over, Najla’s eyes fell upon the tattoo that had only just been drawn onto her skin, yet one more marker of what she had done to bring this. Osman had made certain it was not the only one.

The cuts his sword had brought stung, but Najla was hardly in a position to inspect the damage it’d done now. Still, she could feel the burn along her back and across her side, a reminder that she’d be dealing with those scars for some time to come. Bruises would be sure to grace her body tomorrow, she could feel the ache in her body even now, but none of these hurt quite as bad as she might have guessed. The grief outweighed it, it outweighed everything, Najla could feel nothing but that sorrow.

Her eyes glanced up once more as the sounds of someone approaching came, but no fear filled her. They were familiar, one a damning presence she blamed nearly as much as herself, another, the last of her blood. She’d need both of them near equally now, a strange thought, though she did not let it occupy her long. Though Najla had little issue with allowing Yasamin to see her grief, it seemed she was not quite so eager to allow her brother to see, though he shared in it better than anyone else. Basim should not have had to bear the burden of their strength on his own, though Najla would have been quite willing to abandon herself to grief. She was not so quick to abandon her brother. As he passed her the leather sack, Najla took a drink from it, careful not to spill. An instinctive gesture to the Sawarim, who valued only blood higher than water. She listened carefully as Basim stepped up to Ketill, her eyes tracing her brother as he spoke.

It was foolishness, Najla knew, and the way she looked at Basim made that quite clear. Her eyes were bright red from the sudden wave of sorrow, though none would be able to see in the dim light the moonlight provided now. Still, it would not be difficult to guess. It did not surprise Najla to hear that Ketill would be taking her with him, for she knew he would drift about in the desert forever without her. It was best for her as well, Najla understood this even in her grief. Osman would find her. He’d scour the desert for her, however deep into Broacien he dared to go, he’d look. She was responsible for the death of his brother, and as soon as he found that that she had escaped with one of her own, he’d be furious. Even more so, his family would be furious with him. It would have been a pleasing thought, but Najla’s pleasure was disrupted as she turned her gaze onto Ketill, watching him as he spoke to Basim.
At the mention of Coedwin, Najla did little but stare at Ketill coldly, though she could feel that slight shiver of fear creep down her spine. It was not the castle itself, nor the memories she held of it, but the thought that she truly did rely on this man now. He’d take all that he could from her and slice her throat to satisfy himself, and still, somehow he was her best option. She truly had become a host to a Djinn. Her eyes followed him as he moved his horse, only to fall back onto Basim quickly. She did not speak, and Basim’s questioning gaze fell onto her, as if trying to gauge how she was feeling.

[i]<“Najla-“>

<“Forgive me, my blood.”>[/i]

The words came out shakily, as if on a breath, but they were clear enough to Basim. The sound of her voice had made it rather obvious that she’d given in to grief, and by the way she spoke, it would sound fragile, as if she might give in again at any moment. She did not move for a moment, but Basim stepped towards her, concern in his voice as he answered.

[i]<“Don’t take this on yourself. Think, please. What are we going to do?”>

<“Forgive me.”>[/i]

The words came out hollow, as if she was whispering them to a ghost. She could feel the alarm in Basim’s voice as he closed the gap in between them, looking down at his sister, though she could not meet his gaze any longer. Najla was slipping, her mind fading into the recesses of grief where she could feel and understand little. A far kinder fate than awareness, but she was abandoning Basim in the process, leaving him for a place he could not follow.

[i]<“Stop it. We have to go with Ketill now, but what of after? I’m not letting you die in Coedwin, surely you must have someone in the Redsand-“>[/i]

[i]<“May God grant me every bruise, may I take all your pain onto myself, all their pain. They’re dead Basim, he took everything, they all suffered for-“>[/i]

Her words were halted by a sob, though this time, she did not use her hand to try and hide it. Instead, it was muffled rather quickly by Basim, who wrapped an arm around her, drawing her in. It was the same way her father had held her as a child to comfort her, the way Harith would have done only to mess her hair, which would always begin an argument. Now, it was a gesture that reminded her of all she’d lost, and she nearly broke down once more. However, Basim’s touch had offered her a greater comfort than he’d ever know could come from such a simple gesture. He was here, he was still flesh and blood, and without her, he’d rot in this desert. With that realization, his words were a strength to her, finally piercing through that haze of grief she desperately wished to lose herself in.

[i]<“I know. I know, sister, I’m grieving too. But I need you now. You’re the last of my blood, if you go mad, Osman will truly have taken everything. Don’t let him. For my sake.”>[/i]

He released her then, at which Najla nodded. It felt as if someone had splashed cold water onto her face, for while the grief was still there, the darkness in her mind threatening to swallow her up, nothing was clearer than her brother. He shouldn’t have had to bear the burden of their strength on his own, and Najla could not bear the thought that she would abandon him to a worse fate than even this.

[i]<“I’m here. I’m sorry. Help me mount my horse, we should hurry.”>[/i]

Even these words were received with some concern from Basim, though the command sounded more like Najla than any of her pleading apologies. Still, it was an odd notion, for Najla was a Sawarim, and thus, should have been entirely capable of mounting a horse on her own. He’d seen her do it plenty of times. But now, when she needed to prove her strength to him, he was reaching a hand out to help her up.

[i]<“Are you hurt? Can you ride?”>[/i]

Najla clicked her tongue at that, looking down at Basim as she waited for him to mount his horse as well. Her voice was still soft as she spoke, but there was a new strength in there now, one she could not have brought herself.

[i]<“They’re shallow. Osman was never quite that strong. I’ll manage fine.”>[/i]

[hr]

He would not hear her apologies for some time after that, and Najla was not quite so eager to offer them again. It was not because she felt that she had been absolved of her role in this, but because she saw that it would only hurt Basim to see her in this state. It was for her brother that Najla forced herself to enter the Coedwin castle again, despite the memories that clawed into her flesh. Worse, those memories were not alone. The man that had touched her before was dead at her own hands, but there was one who had done far worse, who had been left alive. Perhaps if she had been able to fight him, to take his life before she fled, she would have found some comfort in that matter. Oftentimes, Najla would find her hand on her own leg, tracing just where she estimated she’d driven the shard of mirror in. She had not seen how deep, but she had heard his bellow of pain, and he had been unable to chase her as a result. She comforted herself with the thought that she’d driven it deep enough, that she’d struck the right part of his leg, that perhaps she had taken something from him as he had taken everything from her. Thus, Najla spent her nights praying she’d crippled her husband.

She’d occupy herself much this way as they traveled, finding it far easier to keep her burdens from Basim. He was hurting just as she was, neither of them were entirely capable of hiding this, nor did they try to. They’d speak of the event as they traveled, in bits and pieces, never more than what Basim believed his sister was capable of. They’d share their stories, recounting who they had seen flee, who they had seen perish, and who they had not seen at all. They would never seek to speak of it in front of Ketill, for though Basim had tried once, he quickly found that Najla simply would not engage in that conversation in front of him, not even in Sawarimic.

But they spoke of it at night, often, especially when they were in their rooms alone. It became a familiar pattern as they traveled, as Najla would often ride in silence during the day, while Basim would take in as much of the land as he could, eager to learn more of it and its people. It was nowhere near as exciting for Najla, who had seen much of it before, and did not quite care to see it again. Rather, she spent most of the ride in silence, absently replaying horrid memories in her mind.. Then they’d rest at night, in their beds, and Najla would stare up at the ceilings as they spoke, hoping to piece together what had happened. Basim had not seen what happened to their father, and it took nights before Najla could bring herself to speak the words, choking them out in a sob that ended the conversation abruptly. She had not seen her mother flee, but Basim had seen her push Nura ahead of her to flee, only to lose both in the crowd. They’d recount these in pieces, and when exhaustion, either emotional or from the travel itself, took over, they’d fall silent. Usually, it would be whenever Najla herself had enough, and Basim felt that another word would make her break down. Then, Basim would turn over, and Najla waited each night until she heard his breathing steady, finally allowing herself to fall to her emotions. She was no fool, to believe that Basim had not heard her pitiful tears at least some nights, but they’d not speak of it in the morning. The most he’d do was remark that she looked like she hadn’t slept, at which Najla would only nod. She couldn’t. The wedding replayed endlessly in her dreams.

It felt odd, to be trailing after Ketill this way, but there were few other options now. He seemed intent on bringing Najla with him, for what reason, she did not know. If he wanted to kill her, he’d had plenty of opportunities. Basim had stopped him once, but she knew it would not be enough to stop him again. Still, the reason itself was meaningless, for they had few other options. Basim’s questions regarding Najla’s network received a damning answer: Osman knew. He’d been her most trusted confidant for years, and though their relationship had deteriorated in the time before the wedding, it would not mean that he forgot all her words. If they went after those Najla knew would help her, the odds that Osman would find them were overwhelming. And that was only if they wished to help. After news of the Sultan’s death would spread, there would be few that would not sell them back to the Al-Suwaidi. They needed Ketill to get through Broacien safely, Najla remembered how they treated her people here, but they could not return to the Sultanate either. There was no safe place on earth for them, they were only safe with Ketill. And they both knew it would not last. Still, they followed him through Broacien, for it seemed they were out of choices.

It had been a surprise to Najla that they had not entered the Hall, but she did not speak of this, at least not to Ketill. She was not eager to return either, not wanting to relive the year she’d watched Jalil rot, nor to realize that perhaps she should have stayed there. Yet her comfort did not override her worry, and so when they entered the tavern, Najla was quick to move up to the room the tavernkeep opened for them. The man looked somewhat curious, as a Servant with three Sawarim in tow was quite a strange sight to any, but Najla paid it no mind. She’d learned years ago that few would question a Servant. She moved past without a word, settling herself on the bed as Basim thanked the man, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

[i]<“Why are we going north?”>[/i]

Her question was answered with a shrug she did not see, for Najla had already laid back on her bed. Basim seated himself at the edge of his own as he spoke, his tone somewhat apprehensive, thinking through the situation.

[i]<“He never said. I don’t think we should go.”>[/i]

[i]<“Is it our choice now?”>

<“We’re not without legs. We could leave now.”>

<“No, we couldn’t. You could. Ketill would not chase you, whatever anger he holds, it is for me only. I don’t want you to suffer for it.”>

<“You’re the last of my blood. I’m not abandoning you. If we leave, we leave together.”>[/i]

[i]<“And go where? Even if we managed to slip away from Ketill, we’d travel south only to die. If we stay here, we die. The Broacienians do not like people like us, and the Sawarim are not our people any longer. Perhaps moving past the mountains would not be so foolish. Osman could not find us there.”>[/i]

[i]<“Do you think Ketill’s taking us there to hide us? He nearly killed you in the castle, you think he changed his mind in a few days? I’m not going to be able to fight him off, I won’t be able to do anything if he tries to kill you again. Have you given up on your life already?”>[/i]

At this, Najla pushed herself to sit on the bed, turning her gaze towards Basim. There was something unreadable there, something even her brother did not understand. Perhaps he was right, perhaps they could flee now and hide away in Broacien until the end of their days, but that was a risk, for both of them. But she had seen how Basim’s presence had managed to stop Ketill from killing her, Najla knew that he did not blame her brother for her being. He was the best choice for Basim’s survival, and Najla had no qualms about giving over her life as a result. Whether or not it’d truly work, she did not know, but any other option was even more dismal. For a moment, there was silence, and now it was Basim’s turn to fling himself back onto the bed, letting out a sigh.

[i]<“I should have been a warrior. Baba tried, but no one tried harder than Harith. He’d drag me out there every chance he got and shoved a sword in my hand. I never understood how getting knocked around was meant to teach me anything, but perhaps I should have tried harder. If Harith was here, he wouldn’t touch you.”>[/i]

[i]<“If Harith was here, we’d be dead already.”>[/i] Najla’s reply earned her a glance from Basim, though it was clear he wasn’t looking for pity at the moment. She would not offer him any, only the truth. [i]<“You’re the one who stopped Ketill in his tracks when he wished to kill me, not him. You know how rash he was, we never would have made it this far. He would have insisted upon staying, fighting for his title-“>[/i]

[i]<“Perhaps we should have done the same.”>[/i]

[i]<“You’re smarter than that.”>[/i] Silence. Basim did not respond, his eyes trained on the ceiling above him. Perhaps he did not want to believe it just yet, but Najla would continue to speak, making certain he knew she wouldn’t be running. [i]<”Imagine if we found loyalists, plenty of them, enough to make a sufficient force. Armies aren’t free. We’ve got nothing to pay them with, nothing besides ourselves. I’d end up traded off to a warlord somewhere, and he’d slit your throat as soon as I had his son.”>

<“What’s the alternative? You know Ketill’s going to kill you.”>

<“I don’t know that. If he was going to kill me, he had plenty of chances. Why now?”>[/i]

There was silence again, and Najla did not need to look at Basim now to know that he was thinking through the situation. He knew more regarding Ketill than she did, he had not forgotten their conversations regarding Ketill’s gods. But it did not offer him an answer to his sister’s question, though it was quite clear she wasn’t looking for one. Death wasn’t an unimaginable fate, certainly not the worst of the possibilities she’d known. Besides, they had few other choices but to go with Ketill, it seemed. He was intent on bringing Najla with him, and she had seen few reasons to say no, realizing that she’d be chased far into the recesses of Broacien, if possible. She was the reason Sa’aqr had perished before his family, surely, the fact that she’d slipped through their fingers would be a thorn in their side for some time to come. But this far north, no one could find them.

[i]<“I want to know something.”>

<“How odd.”>[/i]

Basim turned his head towards her now, opening his eyes. It was the first sign of humor Najla had shown in their time fleeing from the Sultanate, a piece of her old self that had buried itself too deep among grief. It caused a slight smile to flash across his face, but the question that came after would be quick to wipe that clean.

[i]<“Did Osman ever give you any hints as to what happened? Anything that gave you cause for suspicion?”>[/i]

Whatever brief hint of humor had been there, it fled from Najla’s face instantly. Rather than answer, she pushed herself off the bed to stand. She had nowhere to go, but it seemed Najla could not stay seated any longer. If she thought she could have left the room, perhaps she would have, but she had not forgotten how people like her were treated in Broacien.

[i]<“You don’t have to say-“>[/i]

Najla clicked her tongue, forcing herself to turn back and look at Basim. The words were there, lingering on the edge of her tongue, hoping to block the pain from her brother, but she could not bring herself to say them. Rather, Najla found herself spitting out anything, no longer lies, but it was certainly not the answer he sought. The words poured out of her mouth as if she could not help it, as if that wave of nausea had come over her again.

[i]<“Not this. I could never have imagined this. If I thought he would hurt any of my blood, I would have sent him after his brother. I should have, I should have taken his tongue the first time he told me he loved me.”>[/i]

[i]<“Najla, I’m sorry.”>[/i] Basim sat up on the bed now, worried eyes upon his sister. She’d seemed somewhat stronger in these few days of traveling, but the question had quickly unraveled her tongue, as well as her mind, it seemed. It was easy enough to hide her grief, to push it to the few hours of the night when Basim would be asleep. But she was still reeling from the incident, and it took far too little to break the façade. [i]<“We don’t have to talk about it.”>[/i]

[i]<“You’re sorry? Don’t ever apologize to me again. I took your world from you Basim, if it weren’t for me you’d be home now. You’d have mama and baba, I would have gladly rotted away in Broacien if I knew what my return would bring.”>[/i]

[i]<“Your return? You think you brought this?”>[/i] Najla did not answer, blinking back tears as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from her brother. It was obvious the guilt weighed on her, but Basim was not willing to allow her to indulge it. [i]<“How are you that arrogant, to believe you brought down a dynasty on your own?”>[/i]

Perhaps it should have sounded insulting, but Najla could take no offense from Basim, nor did he intend to give it. He was simply speaking the truth, the facts her sorrow had distorted for her, though it would do nothing to lessen her guilt.

[i]<“The people drink water, the Sultan drinks wine. The people drink dust, the Sultan drinks water. The people drink blood, the Sultan, dust.”>[/i]

[i]<“I remember the saying. Baba said some of the Sha’irs had been making songs of it in the capital, before uncle told him to round them up.”>[/i]

[i]<“We’d all heard the saying before. Then we went back into the castle, lounged on golden chairs, and drank wine as we laughed about it. Abdul even told the Sha’ir’s to add a few more verses on before he recommended that Uncle cut their tongues out. Do you remember that? We thought God had placed us there, and as a result, we thought no one could take us down.”>[/i]

[i]<“The Sawarim did place us there.”>[/i]

[i]<“Well, men took us off. If Sa’aqr’s death had been the only reason they had, they never would have gathered enough men. Some of them did so because they drank dust in the summers, and we drank wine. Some, because they believed the scandals of the Sultan’s court proved the Sawarim no longer favored them. I’m certain there were even a few men who joined just because of that time Tahir told that fat Emir to send him over his daughter. It doesn’t matter. You’re never going to survive with that burden of guilt trapped on your shoulders.”>[/i] 

His words had sobered her up rather quickly, and now, Najla was looking at him with something more unknown. The event had changed him drastically, as it had her, but in far different ways. Najla had contained her grief the best she could, otherwise, she had become a shell of her former being. Before, her entire life had revolved around her family, serving the Sultan and the Sawarim, and truthfully, nothing else. Now, all that she had left of that was Basim, and a faith that did not seem like it wished to repay her devotion to it. In contrast, Basim had become stronger. He’d had to, for it was his strength that had given Najla hers.

[i]<“I see that grief hasn’t softened your tongue.”>[/i]

[i]<“Nor should it. I’d soften it for Nura, perhaps, or Tabina. It’d be doing you a disservice.”>[/i]

It’d be doing both of them a disservice, truthfully. Basim had been quite careful about the way he’d spoken of this incident, but only in regards to the death of their family. The facts, the pure truth of what had happened and what had caused it, he had few qualms about trying to understand. Najla had been his best source for this, but the role she played in this disaster had not been a small one, and she had not forgotten that. She would never forget it. For as long as she breathed, Najla knew, she’d carry the burden of her choices with her, her hands forever stained by her family’s blood. Basim was smart enough to understand this too, though it was not for this reason that he tried to ease the burden of guilt. It seemed he had an inkling, one he didn’t wish to ask about, of just how Najla intended to ease that burden upon herself. So long as Basim lived, it did not matter what sacrifices she’d need to make, she had made that quite clear, but they both knew how little she had left to give now.

[i]<“You should rest. I know you haven’t slept well.”>

<“Do you really want to know? About Osman?”>[/i]

Najla spoke these words as she moved back towards her bed, seating herself on the edge. Basim looked confused at first, though he only laid back down on his bed, resting his hands behind his head.

[i]<“You really don’t have to say.”>

<“I sensed that something had changed about him after Sa’aqr’s death because he rarely put a hand on me afterwards.”>[/i]

Basim turned his head to look at Najla now. There was no surprise in his expression, which Najla had all but expected, for she had far too much faith in her brother’s intelligence to believe otherwise. Yet, speaking it outright felt far different. She was not looking for sympathy, though she could not meet her brother’s gaze to see if he was offering any. Rather, she moved to lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes as she finished speaking.

[i]<“He was kinder, gentler, without any reason to be. I believed this was because I had granted him Ketill, or perhaps because our marriage would grant him more control. Truthfully, I didn’t care. I wasn’t afraid of Osman. I thought enduring would bring some honor back to our family. If I had known what he hid, I would have killed him a long time ago.”>[/i] Silence, for a few long moments. [i]<“Ya Sawarim, I hope I crippled him.”>

<“May God will it.”>[/i]

[hr]

Their conversation the night before had put neither Basim nor Najla at ease, though, none of their conversations had so far. Still, there was nothing they could do, nerves or not, they’d push ahead. It was a strange sensation to Najla, who had intended to make this journey so many years ago. Then, she had not realized just what it had entailed. She had believed she’d been chosen to accompany Jalil on an incredible mission, for the glory of the Sultan, the Sultanate, and the Sawarim. She’d been enthralled with the thought of traveling to a foreign land, engaging with the people there, and perhaps, if she was skilled enough, convincing them the Broacienians were an enemy. Above all, it had been an honor to serve her uncle, as she believed he had seen her work and was prepared to place more trust in her.

It had taken long years to clear that notion from her mind, but Najla held few of those ideals now. She’d had some contacts in Broacien, it was true, but the more she thought regarding the matter, the more she wondered why her uncle had ever conceded to send her alongside Jalil. If he knew what her brother was meant to do, the thought that he’d send a Sultana up these dangerous mountains with only a few guards in tow was strange to her now. Perhaps he had never intended for her to return. Perhaps he simply didn’t care. Najla wanted to ask her brother, to separate her own paranoid thoughts using his more somber mind, but she could not bring herself to speak the words. To speak ill of the dead was a great sin, and so Najla kept these thoughts to herself as they traveled.

Still, it was a strange thought to believe that she was traveling north as she had always intended, just with another brother alongside her. Though Basim had not ceased to be a comforting presence to her, Najla found that his endless fascination with the lands around them was beginning to grow irritating to her.

[i]<“This is snow?”>[/i]

He’d asked the question as soon astheir horses began to move out of the grass, into territory covered with that endless white coating. With wide eyes, Basim turned back to look at Najla, who only clutched the cloak tighter around her, bored eyes meeting his. She’d seen it before, never in such a thick quantity, but she’d survived a winter at Barren Flats. Not a difficult feat, when one lived inside the warmth of a castle, but her memories of snow had not been pleasant regardless. A shiver ran through her body before she responded to her brother, her body clearly unused to this sort of cold. She was already craving the desert sun again.

[i]<“Terrible, isn’t it? You can hardly stand in it without freezing.”>[/i]

[i]<“And you can barely walk in the sand without roasting. The Broacienians truly have it easy with their grass, don’t they?”>

<“That’s why they’re soft.”>[/i]

Basim grinned at that comment, only to turn back and revel in the sight before him. By doing this, he missed the fleeting hint of a smile his own words had brought before, though it faded rather quickly.

No smile would appear again as they moved further north, finally stopping at a camp. It was busy, far busier than she’d expected such an area to be, but she was not quite as enthralled by the sights as Basim seemed to be. It was a curious thing to watch the people stare at them, for though the three Sawarim were a novelty to these people, Najla had become somewhat familiar with the sort of people that lived north of her former home. And yet, even these people were a strange sight, for they looked far more like Ketill than even the Broacienians did. As soon as the three had left their horses, this distinction became far more apparent, for they seemed to tower over the three of them. Regardless, Najla continued to follow Ketill, her eyes on the attraction he’d brought them to.

As soon as Basim had asked, Najla turned to him, clearly more intent on getting the information from him, rather than Ketill. Her eyes moved over the crowd, though it settled on the courtroom before them, where the judges sat before the men, ready to decide their fates.

[i]<“What did he say this was?”>

<“Court.”>[/i] His words were worried, though Najla did not quite seem to be, though she had plenty of reason to. Rather, her eyes followed the man that was lead into the room, desperately trying to understand just what was happening.

[i]<“They have far too many judges for a court, don’t they?”>[/i]

The Sawarim only had one, a single authority meant to decipher the words of their God. Basim did not answer her, only watching as the men begin to speak, trying to understand what was going on. Najla did the same, though from the few words she could pick out here and there, there was little to garner. Still, it was an interesting sight, and she seemed surprised when the larger man turned in anger, shouting at him. This would never be permitted in her home, but this place was certainly not her home, there was no mistaking that.

Najla watched the court curiously as the two men walked off. Though she’d been able to understand a few words here and there, most of the message had been lost in their accents. It was harder to understand men when they were angry, their words came faster and their accents thicker, it seemed. While Basim’s knowledge Broacienian was far more formal, whatever advantage Najla had gained by her year in Broacien had long been tainted by the years she’d spent back in the Sultanate, only using her knowledge of the tongue to speak to Ketill. They’d both know the same as the other, most likely, and Najla seemed eager to piece these together. It did not even occur to her to ask Yasamin, she had far more faith in her brother’s limited knowledge than whatever the girl would tell her. She’d been loyal to her before, that was for certain, but Ketill was her protector now, not Najla.

[i]<“What did you understand?”>

<“Some, but it doesn’t make any sense. How can-“>[/i]

His words were cut off abruptly as Najla felt a sudden pain in her arm, one that pulled her forwards. Though her hand reached up, trying to pry Ketill’s fingers off of her, it was to no avail. Still, it did not stop her from trying even as she tried to look back at her brother, but she would be unable to catch a glimpse of him before Ketill pulled her into the court, releasing her suddenly.

With wide eyes, Najla turned to look at the crowd around her, feeling the fear rise up in her stomach. This must have been Ketill’s plan all along, but she did not even know what this was. The crowd offered her no answers. She made eye contact with every person her eyes settled upon, for all their gazes were trained on her, wondering just what she was. The judges seated before them were all eyeing her carefully as well, but this frightened Najla more than anything. After all, Ketill’s eyes had convinced some of her people he was a Djinn, Najla included. She could only imagine what stories they’d conjure up about her.

Luckily or not, she was not given any time to ponder, remaining silent as the judge began to speak. Not out of fear, but because the few words she could pick up would be all that informed her of her fate. As Ketill spoke, Najla turned her gaze onto him, frowning slightly. She’d never heard his family name before. It was utterly impossible for her to pronounce, and so it might have been another word lost to her ears, but in the context, it could have been little else. Still, it was brushed aside as he continued to speak, informing the judges as to why he was here.

She would not need to understand their words, she found. They would exchange few before Ketill turned, raising his coat and tunic to show the horrible scars her husband had left him with. This should have incited fear, in any sane man it would have, but it seemed Najla had little of that sanity left. Her husband had taken it, just as he had ripped Ketill’s skin apart.

Instead, she felt only anger. Was that why she had been dragged all this way, brought up through the far recesses of Broacienian and into the north, just so she could continue to repay her sins, her husband’s sins, with her blood? It had been shed already, etched onto the walls of the palace, all their mistakes and sins paid for by the skin off their backs and the blood in their veins. What did this beast want from her, what was there left to take? The blood pounded in her ears as these thoughts flooded her mind, nearly drowning out the voices of the men deciding her fate. There was nothing left of her to take, nothing but her own flesh, her blood. Perhaps this was fear that surged in her chest now, so indecipherable from her anger towards Ketill at this point, but she stifled it as best as she could. She needed to hear the men deciding her fate. 

She had heard few, much of it lost in the uncontrollable pulsing of her own thoughts, though she had gotten the ultimate gist. They would not decide now. Yet she had not missed that word, the one she'd heard from another's lips before, one that she assumed was little but a mistake. Gods. Even with their thick accents, she had been able to pick that out, to hear the plurality when it should not have been there. Yet it offered her little direction as to her fate, and worse, she realized it would be the final words. All her silence had been worthless, and her fate would be decided with it, it seemed.

Ketill took her arm again, once more forcing her out of the court. If she had not understood their words, the anger with which he gripped her might have told her that her time had come. Now, all she could do was turn her head back, trying desperately to have her voice heard.

[i]“Is this how you will decide my fate? Will you tell them what you have taken from me? Tell them! How could you ask for more when your eyes have drained me of my blood, [b]tell them! Tell them what I lost for you![/b]”[/i]

Najla scrambled along as Ketill continued to drag her with him, though she was determined to make this as difficult a feat as possible. Her nails dug into the skin of his hand, trying to pry his grip off her arm, though this was to no avail. Just like her words, it seemed her attempts to free herself hardly registered, and she had little choice but to follow. Still, her words continued, quickly devolving into that which he would not understand, which was never intended for him to know. Involuntary, perhaps, but the anger pulsed through her, far more apparent when spoken in her own tongue.

[i]<”Djinn! How dare you ask for more, you breathe only because I gave a kingdom for you!”>[/i]

They were strange words, clearly evidenced by the the confusion in Basim’s eyes, which managed to override even the worry within them. Perhaps if translated to Ketill, or even as understood by Yasamin, they might have explained her words by her arrogance, assuming Najla blamed Ketill for the horrors she’d endured. It was Basim who knew better, for he was the one she'd confessed her sense of guilt to. It seemed whatever belief she’d had that Ketill was a man had fled, dashed alongside her family's blood.

Her anger did not cease as Ketill collected Basim and Yasamin, but it was no longer yelled, nor spoken. A new sense of worry had entered her as she turned her head to look at her brother, trying her best to keep her gaze upon him as Ketill pulled them along towards the horses. She wanted to tell him to flee, perhaps even to confess the truth of what she had brought into their home, but these words were quickly halted as a man stopped them.

It was only now that Najla’s hand released Ketill’s flesh, likely realizing it's uselessness. Or perhaps her curiosity had been directed onto the man before her, the one who had stopped them. He looked just as large as the rest, though even in her strange mixture of panic and anger Najla noticed the gold rings around his fingers. She’d never wear such finery again, but among all that she had lost, the finery would be forgotten the fastest. She understood a few words, namely ‘food’, but it would not have been enough to entice her. He’d brought her into a land of Djinns, people just as strong and cursed as he was, she would rather starve than give herself over to another of these. Perhaps it was lucky that it was not her choice, for these irrational thoughts would be given no consideration as Ketill pulled her along after the man.

She stumbled slightly as Ketill pushed her into the tent, even though he had not meant to make her fall. Still, it was enough to cause her to look back at him with an angry glare, though her words had been silenced for now. Rather, she was quick to seat herself, soon joined by Basim and Yasamin. 

The people in the tent drew some interest, but Najla could not focus on them for long. Rather, she turned to Basim and Yasamin quickly, trying to understand what had just happened, what her fate was.

[i]<“I could hardly understand a word, will I be killed? Did they say how?”>[/i]

[i]<“A few more days.”>[/i] Yasamin’s reply came with little worry, for she did not have quite a stake in Najla’s life. She had been loyal to her long before, but it counted for little here. [i]<“They’ll say then, I think.”>[/i]

Najla turned to Basim then, hoping her brother had understood more, something more concrete than waiting. However, it seemed she was merely meant to wait to know her fate. 

[i]<“I do not know, I believe Yasamin is right. What is a thrall? They mentioned the word several times.”>[/i]

Whatever hint that word would give her was quickly interrupted as they offered her food, which she took without a word. Basim had the decency to thank them with a nod, though he did not begin to eat, not until he had seen Ketill tear off the piece of bread and throw it into the fire. The words he spoke had intrigued him, it seemed, but Najla did not seem to notice that he was not quite as confused by them as she was. He could not understand them either, but perhaps the gesture itself made more sense to him. It did not matter. He returned to eating the food quickly, not separately, as Ketill seemed to do, but dipped in bread in as the Sawarim were accustomed to do. Yasamin did the same, even as Najla pushed her plate to the side, her food untouched. 

[i]<“You need to eat.”>[/i] Basim’s voice was muffled by the food in his mouth, though she could still sense the worry within it. Najla did not reply, only taking a sip of the ale she’d been given. [i]<“You’ve barely eaten or slept, aren’t you hungry?”>[/i]

[i]<“What’s the use?”>[/i] Najla took another sip of that ale, though her eyes fell to the food before her. It was a far cry from what she’d become accustomed to over the years, but this was not why she’d left it untouched. She did not long for the spiced meats and rich fruits that she’d spent her life eating, Najla did not long for anything at all. [i]<“Does it matter if I die on an empty stomach?”>[/i]

[i]<“You’re not dying.”>[/i]

Najla fell into silence once more, her eyes training forward onto Ketill and the man as they began to speak. Basim’s words might have convinced her any other day, but she knew her brother was not speaking rationally now. He was smart enough to know that he couldn’t. She’d tried to remain present for Basim, tried to relegate her sorrow to the hours and recesses he could not see, but to no avail. Her brother would only watched as she slipped farther and farther away, until he watched her die.

No. He would not see it. He couldn’t. Even if Najla had wished to protect him from such atrocities, even after all he’d witnessed, she would not be able to, this she had learned. Yet there was a greater reason for her thoughts, one rooted in a belief Basim had seen only hints of, never confirmed. He’d never ask her to confirm it, though Harith had once before. Her eyes fell upon Ketill now as these thoughts pulsed through her mind, forcing an angry frown onto her brow. 

Whatever demon she’d given over her life to, she would not allow it to be the one that killed her. Najla had survived her husband, his family, her own people, she would not give her final breath to a dog. Looking over at Basim, who was trying to listen to the two men as they spoke, she leaned in and lowered her voice, not allowing any to hear. It would not matter, given none but Yasamin could speak their language, but it seemed even Yasamin was not meant to hear.

[i]<“Give me your dagger.”>[/i]

[i]<“What? No.”>[/i] 

For a moment, the sudden refusal had stunned her. Basim did not seem too confused by it, but Najla was not quite so used to her brother denying her so easily. He was not the type to decide so aprubtly, usually, he’d ask questions, try to understand her purpose. It was far more like him to try and understand everything before making a decision, even one such as this. Yet it should not have shocked her, given her behavior in the days since the massacre. Basim was no fool, to hand Najla a dagger when he’d seen how volatile she’d been recently, even how she’d yelled at Ketill fruitlessly while he held her life in his hands. Perhaps he thought she’d try to take Ketill’s life before he could take hers, which was certain to result in her own death before it did his. Regardless, Najla would not give up so soon.

[i]<“My blood, you don’t trust me?”>[/i]

[i]<“Not with a dagger.”>[/i]

She did not get a chance to push farther yet, for her eyes turned to Ketill as he rose to approach them. For a moment, she felt her heart in her throat, watching as he passed over her towards Basim, yanking him up quickly. Had she not heard the bits and pieces of their conversations before, even as she had been pressing Basim for his dagger, Najla might have assumed they were to be sold as slaves. It would certainly seem like it, the way he moved Basim’s coat up to show his arms, with little regard to the fact that he was a boy, not a goat. Her brother sat down as soon as Ketill moved on, and Najla watched as he spoke regarding Yasamin, before finally moving on to her. 

His words were returned with a blank stare, not indicating anything regarding her thoughts on the matter. There was nothing behind her eyes anymore, but that would quickly change, if only for a moment, at the sound of a word that was all too familiar to her. It was not one she understood, and yet, one she’d never forget.

Suddenly, where there had been little fear of death waiting for her, Najla found it settle in the pit of her stomach, remembering Yazan’s screams. Was that how Ketill intended for her to die? Would he push her into the flames for that strange word, the one she held no meaning for? The thought of a blade being stabbed through her gut was no enjoyable death, but the thought of burning alive, to smell her own flesh burning as Yazan had, it nearly made her sick. It was lucky she had not touched the food, and the ale too, she pushed away, more determined than ever now.

[i]<“Basim, please. I need to go out of the tent, and I don’t want to do that without protection. I don’t know what these people are capable of. At least offer me that peace of mind.”>[/i]

He’d never forgive her for this, Najla knew, and she pushed that thought away as best as she could. Najla knew Basim better than anyone alive, and unlike her brother, was entirely capable of using that knowledge for her own gain. She knew he was a rational boy, a clever one, but he was still her brother. The thought of allowing his sister to go off without any sense of security or protection would weigh on his conscious, especially when she was in such a state. 

[i]<“Why do you need to leave the tent? Will Ketill even let you?”>

<“I can’t piss in here, can I?”>

<“Right.”>[/i]

Najla watched with a strange sense of victory as Basim reached down to the dagger on his hip. She was prepared to tell him to do so without any seeing, a difficult task, seeing as they all had their eyes on them, but it seemed she did not need to remind her brother. Luckily, their attention was on Ketill briefly as he pulled out the ring, giving Basim just enough time to pass Najla the dagger discreetly, upon which she took it in her left hand, which she used to hold the cloak as if she were cold, effectively concealing it. If they had been farther south this would have been a more difficult feat, seeing as the Sawarimic penchant for thin layers of clothing offered little room to conceal anything in, but the thicker layers the northerners wore were far more conducive to this. Just as she had concealed the dagger, her attention was diverted by the ring that landed just in front of her feet. 

She glanced up at Ketill, as if waiting to hear him chastise her for taking the dagger, but his instructions quickly stated otherwise. With her right hand, marked on one side by her tattoo and scarred on the other by that shard of mirror, she reached down, picking up the golden ring.

[i]“Where did you get this?”[/i]

It was a question she did not expect an answer to, and she was certain Ketill would not offer her one. He would never have had time to take it from the palace as they escaped, and she had seen few other opportunities for him to steal something of value. Basim would likely assume it was from the house, though he did not know Ketill had taken it until now. Najla however, pushed the thought out of her mind, turning the ring over in her hand as she read the inscription aloud.

[i]<“Sawarim 'innaa naj'aluka fee nuhoorihim wa na'oothu bika min shuroorihim.”>[/i]

She spoke the words aloud in Sawarimic, a smile crossing her lips as she did. It was not a smile born of humor or joy, but a bare one, indicating more regarding the inscription than it should have. She glanced up around the room then, noting that their eyes were all on her, most enthralled by the strange language she spoke, but her gaze settled on Ketill, returning that cold stare of his with her own.

[i]“Ya Sawarim, we ask you to restrain them by their necks and seek refuge in you from their evil.”[/i]

That bare smile turned into a slight grin, and she turned the ring over in her hand. How fitting, that this was the inscription Ketill had kept with him. It was true then, her instincts had all been true. There could be no more hesitation on her part.

[i]“It is a protection, against Djinns.”[/i]

Now, her eyes turned to the trader, boring into him as she continued. That smile did not die down, though she did not know what he would understand. Her accent was thick, and though she spoke her words slowly, as if dripping in honey, they were not meant for the northerners to hear. These words were for Ketill.

[i]“Worthless, once you have invited one into your home. Once one has been fed by your generosity, they will never be sated. They’ll take your food, your home, your blood…”[/i] Her words trailed off, but only briefly, as they settled on the young girl seated behind the trader. [i]“And finally, your daughters.”[/i]

The smile only died down off her face as she stood gracefully, only to slip the ring onto her own finger. The other hand pulled the cloak around her, the sensation of the dagger in her hand a comforting one, now that she was certain what it was meant for. 

[i]“Am I free to leave?”[/i] Her gaze turned onto Ketill now, only that contempt returning for him. [i]“Or will you force me to relieve myself in this tent?”[/i]

She did not need her question answered, it seemed, for her gaze turned down to her brother then. Najla tousled his hair affectionately, feeling a sudden pit form in her stomach as she did. She hated lying to him.

[i]<“I’ll be right back.”>[/i]

With those words, Najla moved to leave the tent, clearly expecting that none would try and stop her. As she did, she passed behind Ketill, stopping briefly behind him. Extending the hand that held the ring, she let it fall from her finger and over his shoulder lazily, offering him one final word before she moved to exit the tent. 

[i]“Thief.”[/i]

She exited the tent, abandoning the warmth behind her as she stepped forwards. It was a cruel place to die, she thought, she’d prefer her bones to be blown about by desert winds forever, rather than hidden among the snow. Still, it was better than whatever Ketill had planned for her, it had to be. She had barely made it a few steps before she heard the sound of someone following her, and turned, expecting to see Ketill, or even Basim. Rather, one of the man’s sons strode towards her, the spear still in his hand. Najla was not surprised, she had not assumed that she’d be allowed to leave without another chasing after her. Still, she hoped he’d have the decency to keep his distance in the woods. 

He did not say a word, likely assuming that she would not be able to understand regardless. Instead, he pointed to her left, where the trees grew a little thicker, allowing her some privacy. She responded with a nod, and began to walk in that direction, whereupon he followed, his strides quickly allowing him to catch up with her. He was taller than her, despite being younger, and far stronger, little different from most of the men here. It might have been a comfort in any other circumstance as she walked beside him, seeing as how any she passed could only stare at her, eyeing her with wonder or caution, curious as to just what she was. This temporary guardian of hers was just as curious, and yet he provided a barrier that she could appreciate now. She didn’t want any of them to interfere.

[i]“What do they call you?”[/i]

Najla glanced up at the boy with a frown as they kept walking, pulling the cloak around her tighter with the hand that still concealed the dagger. He had spoken too quickly for her liking, though Najla could have guessed at what he meant. Still, she’d allow him to clarify it once more.

[i]“Name?”[/i] He pointed at her, as if that would help, upon which Najla would finally reply.

[i]“Najla.”[/i] He turned the name over in his mouth, testing it, though he could not get close. The thick accent with which he spoke it nearly made her smile, though it quickly faded as they moved slightly deeper into the woods.

[i]“You are not coming with me.”[/i]

Though she spoke slowly, it seemed her accent was still difficult for him to understand, or perhaps her words. As soon as she caught a glimpse of his frown, she lifted a hand, indicating for him to stop here. It seemed she would not need to explain why, and he was quick to point to an area where she might have some privacy, turning to lean against the tree lazily. Najla did not hesitate, moving behind the bushes he’d indicated.

There, she knelt. Though the ground was frozen and uncomfortable, she forced herself to ignore this discomfort, finally pulling her hand out of the cloak. The dagger, she rested on her lap, just before bending over to pray.

She did not speak the words aloud, for fear that the boy would overhear her, but whispered them shakily. There was no thought more unnerving than death, but knowing that Ketill would have no final control over her, that her last breath would always be hers, it was a greater comfort than she’d ever imagined. The words ceased quickly, suddenly worried that she would not have time, and finally, she ended her prayers with a substantial deviation from the formal words she’d spoken before.

[i]<“Ya Sawarim, may I find my place beside my blood in heaven, and may my blood on earth forgive me.”>[/i]

With that, she reached down, finally pulling the dagger out of its sheath. Her hands shook as she did, both from the fear and cold, and she heard the slight sound of the metal scraping as she pulled it out, though she could not tell how loud it was, for the blood pounded in her ears and her eyes closed. Her hands shook as she moved to raise the dagger to her throat, forcing herself through the hesitation. It had to be like this. The dagger was nearly at her throat, her final breath visible in the cold air before her, though she could not see it. Suddenly, there was no more hesitation.

Just before the metal could meet her throat, a force knocked her to the side, a hand gripped at her wrist, keeping the dagger from her throat. It did not take much for the boy to rip the dagger from her hand, tossing it to the side as he tried to subdue her. It was more difficult than he’d find, for he did not have the threat of death to hold against her, rather, Najla turned onto her stomach, trying to push herself up to climb after the dagger. It was no use, for she suddenly found him pinning her down, causing a series of curses to escape her lips.

[i]<“Dirty goat, get off of me, you filthy fucking-”>[/i]

Her words were muffled by the boy's hand, which suddenly found its way onto her mouth, making certain no one else would hear her. It was certain to draw attention, and it seemed he was smart enough to know that would only cause problems. Still, Najla would not allow her words to be stifled for long, and even as she kept trying to push him off of her, to get her face out of that freezing ground, her teeth found the flesh that kept her words silent. The boy let out a curse of his own as she dug her teeth into his hand, piercing the skin with little regard to the taste of coppery blood that entered her mouth now. He pulled his hand out and reached forward, grabbing the dagger before pulling her up, gripping her by the arm much as Ketill had. Much like she had with Ketill, she dug her nails into his hand, and though the boy was clearly more susceptible to the pain than Ketill had been, it was not enough to free her. He dragged her back through the path they’d come, ignoring the angry words that flowed from Najla’s lips unrestricted now. Still, he was quite good at ignoring them, and the endless stares that came now, as they found the tent again. He pushed her through the entrance before him, following just after. 

Najla’s words ceased as they entered the tent, her gaze fixating on Ketill now. She’d been so close to escaping him, so close to keeping her breath for herself, and because of this boy, she’d been handed over to a Djinn again. Without a word, she merely moved to sit beside her brother again, who watched with wide eyes as the boy handed the dagger to Ketill.

[i]“She tried to cut her throat.”[/i] As soon as Ketill took the dagger from him, he made his way back to where his brothers stood, no longer watching her with curiosity. Those few moments had been enough to create an animosity between them, it seemed, both with good reason. 

[i]“You’re bleeding.”[/i] One of his brothers remarked, at which the boy looked up at Najla, turning his hand over. 

[i]“The bitch bit me.”[/i]

Najla eyed this exchange with contempt, for though she could not quite know what they were saying, his motions left her with a good guess. 

[i]<“His blood tasted like cow’s shit.”>[/i]

It was a common Sawarimic insult, to indicate someone was of a lower class, though none of those who understood found the amusement in it. Rather, her attention was quickly drawn by her brother, who had remained silent just long enough to piece together what happened.

[i]<“Najla!”>[/i]

Najla turned her gaze onto him, her eyes softening for a moment as they rested upon the familiar face. Still, there was no other emotion there. She was a shell of her former being, any anger, any sadness, they were only fleeting reminders of the person she’d been before. This, this empty being that eyed her brother with that bored stare she’d perfected so many years ago, this was what Osman had made her.

[i]<“What did you do?!”>[/i]

He knew, but the horrified look in his eyes made it clear that he was waiting for an explanation. Najla did not offer him any, at least, not one that would make sense to him.

[i]<“I’m sorry, my blood. I couldn’t let the Djinn take me. It’s the only way to release yourself, you know that-”>[/i]

[i]<“The Djinn? He’s a man, Najla, have you lost your mind?! How could you do such a thing to yourself?”>

<“It’s better than what happened to Yazan. Besides, if I was gone, you would have no cause to remain in this wasteland.”>[/i]

Her words were cold, nearly emotionless, but Basim would not stop. His fears had been confirmed now, it seemed, for while Najla had held herself together for his sake, and his sake alone, the madness brought on by such beliefs was more than apparent now. He’d learned a great deal from his sister back in the Sultanate, had always believed her to be at least somewhat intelligent, but this was not the woman who’d indulged his curiosities about Broacien, despite her hatred of the place itself. 

[i]<“Is this what Osman has done to you? Have you lost yourself? Najla, did you think it’d be that easy? What if you died, do you think Ketill would have released me?”>

<“You’re not his prisoner. He’s always liked you, I think.”>[/i]

[i]<“And if you died? Then I’d be a replacement!”>[/i] Here, Basim finally drew the first hint of emotion from her, and her eyes widened, as if suddenly realizing that fact. Truthfully, it had never crossed her mind, though it should have. They both knew it should have. The fact that she had lost even this sense of rationality was worrisome to Basim, though just as she’d known how to take the dagger from him, he knew how to keep it from her throat.

[i]<“You promised not to abandon me.”>[/i]

[i]<“I won’t.”>[/i]

Basim clicked his tongue then, turning away from his sister. The worry and fear were more than apparent in his eyes, though Najla felt none of that for herself. He buried his face in his hands with a groan, realizing that perhaps he was alone in this misery after all.

[i]<“You already have.”>[/i]

[/quote]