This day was a particularly hot one, temperature soaring faster than the quickest of birds could race across the sky. The day was proving to quickly be one that could not be at all merciful. Yet the hour was young, perhaps no more than two hours past daybreak. It would indeed be another miserable day.
A single woman strays from the confines of that which would shelter from the wicked desert heat. Even the desert animals, so used to the heat of this land, could not be seen. Yet one woman, clad in a light, airy dress, yet completely covered, manages to brave the elements and emerge from a tent.
Her eyes were dark set and squinted, as if surveying the land around her. The land sweltered, the waves of heat making the landscape appear to be under water. She stood, quietly watching, as if waiting for someone or some thing to approach. The thought itself seemed unimaginable, for anything to be moving in this heat was most unlikely.
Her hand rose, sheltering her eyes from the sun's vicious rays. She knelt to the sand, placing a gloved hand down to touch the ground below her feet. Her head tilted slightly and she listened to every sound around her. Hearing minute sounds was easy on a day such as this, where nothing else would move and the heat would carry the slightest of sounds across great distances. And that is when she heard it.
At first, it was barely more than a steady murmur, the rhythmic pattern of feet upon the sand. Slowly though, the sound gained strength and within a few moments, the skyline was dotted with shapeless forms. The forms would, of course gain the shape within the next hour or so that it would take for the riders to reach the camp. The woman, now knowing that the return of the riders was eminent, returned to the tent she had emerged from to busy herself once more with her task for the day.
Soon enough, the once near inaudible sounds strengthened to a mighty thunder against the ground. The riders had returned to the camp, some of the mounts without their riders, others toting injured men. Before the cloud of dust around the men and animals could settle, the camp had come alive with people. Some rushed for water, others for medical supplies, and still others to help the injured to a quiet place to rest, where their injuries could be treated. And the woman sat, watching the chaos with a noticeable concern on her brow. This was not the first time that the riders had come back in such a manner.
The concern lifted quickly when the animals were lead to their posts. From amidst the chaos, she saw the figure she had quietly waited for. He, the one that kept her up at night, worrying about whether or not he would return from another one of his raids, finally emerged from the cloud of dust. His wounds seemed worse this time, but for some reason unknown to anyone, he was still able to walk.
He shrugged off those that would come to his side and try to bandage him. He pushed aside the women that would bid him to rest so that they could tend to his wounds. His pace was steady, his eyes dark and menacing and his resolve undeniably strong. He did not stop until he reached the woman's tent. And there it was that, for only the briefest of moments, his legs shook and his demeanor of strength had nearly crumbled.
The woman waved her hand, as if to rid herself from those around her. The task she had been busying herself with was all too obvious now. She was preparing a salve, readying a bowl of water and ensuring that a make shift bed had been set up. She had become all too accustomed to patching his wounds and ensuring that he would heal properly and fully. She was thankful for the months of training she had to endure for this very task.
And as if it were a pattern, he stumbled to the bed and stood, wavering. She let the sides of the tent down and watched as he crumpled to his knees, then to the bed. Quietly, she moved to his side and began to pull away his torn clothing. Each piece was tossed aside, knowing that it would have to be cleaned and mended later. For now, his wounds were that which needed to be mended.
She watched as his eyes flickered, then closed. He was tired; the ride had only worsened the wounds. She didn't want to imagine the battle that caused these gashes and cuts, she was just glad that he had returned to her once more. She reached over to a stack of towels beside the bed and, one at a time, began wetting them and washing away the dust, sand and blood. Towel after towel hit the ground beside her, until he and his rather large wounds were cleaned.
Quietly, she sutured his wounds closed while he slipped in and out of consciousness. He wasn't feverish; he had just lost quite a bit of blood. Her concerns weren't rising though; she had seen this from him on more than one occasion. Once his wounds were closed, she carefully applied the salve, and then wrapped the wounds in clean gauze. All that could be done now was to wait out the night and hope for a quick recovery.
As he slept, she set out the bloodied towels and his torn clothing. She knew that someone would come by soon enough to remove them. She then, like so many nights before, sat at his bedside with plenty of water and food, waiting for him to wake.
The night was just as vicious as the day was, in more ways that she could have imagined. The men had ridden a full day's ride to get back to the camp, and it showed on their faces. The slaves busied themselves with preparing food and drink for the men, yet the woman still sat at the bedside. The men feasted and drank their fill, carrying slaves off to tents in celebration, yet the noise of the outside activities of the camp didn't even stir him from his sleep. She had become accustomed to this; it was not the first time it had happened.
As the fires of the celebration had simmered down to a dull roar, she left his side long enough to ensure that things had been picked up around the camp. Seeing that it wasn't an entire disaster area, as the noise would have lead her to believe, she returned to his side to wait. She could only have guessed what he did this time, what marvelous journey he went on, what great enemies he smote... what horrid things he wouldn't speak of, even if he were awake. But that would have to wait until after he had rested.
She almost caught herself drifting off to a sleep, having sat by the bedside for what seemed like hours. It was hours too, before the noise of someone approaching the camp woke her. She jolted herself awake with the sudden disturbance and nearly leapt out of the tent. Control was something she had though, control of her senses, control of her mind. She quietly exited the tent, but not before picking up a crossbow that sat near the exit.
She knew she would only have one shot... and it had better hit. If it didn't hit, she didn't know if she would have time to warn the camp. Yet, her intent was fixated on stopping the noise that approached the camp. She crept around the tent, slipped in between two other tents and came to a stop, crossbow drawn and ready when the noise stopped. The beast that had created the noise stood, not ten feet from her. The man sitting upon the beast merely shook his head at her as he slid out of the saddle.
It was probably more luck of hers than she thought, but the moons shining down brightly above her illuminated the figure that she nearly shot. All she could do was silently curse at herself for being caught off guard. As the man pulled down his sand scarf, she just all but threw the crossbow at his head. She still had that control issue... and she wasn't going to show that she was angry with him for scaring her like that.
The man was a Bakah man who she had, on many times, met with under the eyes of only the mother and the father. His description could only be fitting of a tribesman, for he stood easily a foot taller than her, two shades darker than her own skin color, with black hair and the same intense eyes of many of the men she admired in her life. And, almost on cue, he set his eyes on her. The instant that he looked at her, she lowered the crossbow and spoke to him, though nothing much above a whisper. She didn't want to wake the camp. His retorts and responses were almost as quiet as her speech was.
"What are you doing here, Tribesman?"
