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She was shocked when Denar had lifted her up and held her beneath the knees and behind her back.  Bridal style most would call this.  But Fatima was no bride.  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck out of fear and it crossed her features as she looked up at him.  He seemed to pay her absolutely no mind.  Wings beat and suddenly she was in the air.  Her whimper was swept away by the wind.  She buried her face against his neck.  When she realized he had a tight grip on her and wasn’t about to let her fall, Fatima allowed herself to peek out from his neck.  The world below was so small.  She looked ahead and the wind made her close her eyes.  It was absolutely exhilarating.  Fatima could not help but laugh and let out a whoop of excitement as she clung to the man who held her.  She looked at him and said, [b]“If I had wings, if this was the way it always felt, I would never want to touch the ground.” [/b] She wasn’t sure the man heard her, the wind whisking away her voice nearly as quickly as it left her mouth.

Much too soon for Fatima’s liking they set feet on the ground.  She could have flown forever.  He set her down on the grass rather unceremoniously.  She pouted a bit, having been accustomed to kinder treatment for quite a few years now.  None the less she followed the men into the home.  It was warm, dark, and lovely.  Her eyes grew wide at the strange comfort that she would not have expected from the outside.

This did not last long as Denar, the man who had carried her, directed her down the hall.  She made no move to remove her cloak and instead, with head held high, walked down the corridor.  Beautiful tapestries and carpeting adorned the way.  She let her eyes linger over them.  It felt strangely homey.  She came to the open door and paused.  Fatima began to think, this was it.  This was really the time of truth.  Would she meet a black widow, or would she meet a healer with just stories?  Somehow, she doubted it was stories.  How else would a man who disliked her race decide to carry her here?

Sucking in a deep breath, she began through the doorway.  As she walked through she noticed the chairs, the old woman, and the fire.  Even as she noticed these things she recognized that she was looking through a veil.  As if at a funeral, she peered through a strange gauze that muted lines and spaces.  Everything seemed abnormal and she wasn’t sure what it was she was looking at.

Rather than call attention, she sat in the less comfortable chair as the old woman spoke.  Her chilled body demanded the warmth of the tea so she lifted the teapot and the poured the liquid into both cups.  She lifted her own to her lips and sipped delicately before leaning back.  Her eyes studied the woman through the veil she forced the girl to see before she replied.  [b]“You are exactly what I expected to see, and that makes me have my doubts.  However, I understand your need for secrecy for it makes sense with what I need to ask.  I came here with the excuse of stories.  What I need is truth.  My people are slowly dying caused by my mother’s hand.  And our ancestors.  My land has become barren.  Floods have left our sheep with little to feed upon.  What I ask… No, what I beg, is a way to re-invigorate the land so that my people and my livestock may flourish again.  Please.” [/b] Fatima slipped from the chair and placed the cup on the table between them before clasping her hands above a bowed head in a prayer like stance.  [b]“Please, I beg you, help me find a way to help my people thrive.”
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