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

[color=6E8E67]Location:[/color] Sharon, Shalador[/center][hr][hr]

How they managed to get out of that town she would never know.  The winds of fate blew luck beneath their feet, that was for sure.  As Fatima approached the encampment she removed the veiled hat from her head and vanished it.  She then materialized a handkerchief which she used to wipe the make-up from her face.  Mostly it smeared the paint around giving her an odd, painted on canvas sort of appearance.  She looked guiltily at the group.  She had fucked up.  And she was afraid.  And now she had to tell them about it.

It seemed things were fairly normal.  The only sense of ire she received was from the sound of chopping wood punctuating the silence of the waning light.  She was afraid to look at Xandar's direction - whether she could see him or not.  She was afraid of what he might say.  She was afraid of what Faeril might say too.  So, Fatima did the only thing she could think of.  She sat down in front of the fire and looked appropriately solemn.  She'd let someone else do the talking.  She didn't trust her voice not to run off without her body.