[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190811/ebaf9cbdde92c7897e853938cfe68fe5.png[/img]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190811/f69e01734dd0dc01caa92521f051c8b4.png[/img]
[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/191022/f47524e228adba260d8cc80440628e88.png[/img]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/191022/50a9b6d868024d22879a4b1d72a7bb23.png[/img]
[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/191022/f075a7c621088e631adcc8d4083a6d8e.png[/img]

[color=6E8E67]Location:[/color] Outside the Eyrie[/center][hr][hr]

Fatima kept to herself as they worked.  She was absorbed in the labor, allowing that energy which stagnated and wallowed in every hollow bit of her to be released through action.  She cried as she worked, tears spilling from a solemn face but never slowing her actions.  Back and forth between the woods and the garden bed.  Fingernails were torn with the effort of digging loose stones.  Mud brushed over her face with the back of her hand or brushed off on her blood-encrusted tunic.  It was easy to see that the woman was quite the mess, however, she behaved with the decorum a Queen should have.  This was something beaten into since a young age.  She heard her name once, spoken between the two men who helped her.  She lifted her eyes to them for a brief moment - bleary and tired.  It did not seem to concern her currently and she went back to her introspection.

Once she was satisfied with the way things were laid out she did a quick double-check.  She had to make sure each thing was exactly in the place it should be.  From there she called on the energy of her birthright stone to dry out the wood.  Her Sapphire was the only jewel she was truly used to using, having kept her Grey hidden for her whole life.  It may have been the deep sadness she felt, the inability to focus, or perhaps she was just so emotionally drained but it didn't work.  The wood did not dry and she tried again.  Still to no avail.  Tears were streaming more freely down her face with the building of her frustration.

With a choked sob she blasted the wood again.  This time, completely by accident, it was with the Grey.  Her Grey was something she did not have as clear control upon and when her emotions welled and swirled it tended to act out.  The wood immediately dried, becoming brittle with the release of water.  Steam billowed before them for a moment then followed by the scent of smoke.  None of the wood had caught fire, but it looked as if it would catch flame should Mikhail and Xandar have a conversation too close to it.