Amal stepped atop the small crags on the outskirts of the oasis, utterly enthralled by the beauty of the scenic location. He hadn't been so close to anything so lush since he was a small boy, and it dazzled his mind that nature could produce such bounty. He raised a hand to help Emmaline step across some of the less friendly rocks upon the ground before their sandal-ed feet touched down on soft grass, idly tickling their ankles. 

Amal could smell the water from there. It was a skill most Arabyans had, having so few chances to drink water in their lives. "You might turn out to be a good luck charm after all," he said to her playfully, though the foreboding arches that looked as if they had shot out of the ground were not very promising. Atop the arches were carved skeletal looking kings, holding a saw-like mace in their left hands and a khopesh in their right. 

Amal was thirsty enough to be uncaring for the moment, and he made his way to pristine spring that was practically transparent save for some loose sediment at the bottom. It wasn't a large body of water, but it was big enough for small fish evidently. They scattered when he fell to his knees and dunked his head into the water to take a long drink. After he was satisfied, he lifted his head out and whipped his thick hair back and forth like a hound. 

"Thank Allah! Or whatever Gods are watching over us." He said, falling back onto his rump and basking in the sun. Once far too hot, it was now radiating pleasant warmth as its rays clashed with the coolness of the water that had drenched him. The archways that stood vigil a few yards behind him seemed to lead into a few abandoned workshops, and one lead to a tower that barely poked over the upended rocky walls that seemed to surround the wadi. The caligraphy looked far too old to be Arabyan, and Emmaline would perhaps feel the echoes of a faint presence of power that had long ago become faded. 

Or hidden. 
[@Penny]