Burnt earth cracks beneath her bare feet, scorching heat hot enough to award second degree burns to a normal humans flesh. The hardened sands of the desert spread out before her, endlessly in dry and shallow fissures yearning for a drop of water. The sun beats down relentlessly, only the tiniest of steamy breezes tickling at the hanging tendrils of her red-gold hair, most of it captured in a loose ponytail atop her crown.
Standing there, she looks out to the far reaches of the desert atop a larger rise in the dunes. Beads of sweat trickle down her delicate neck, along the curve of her clavicle, only to disappear into the cleavage of her bosoms. Taking in a long breath, chest rising and constricting against the strapless linen crop top she wears, one would think she were delirious from the heat.
No. This was her element. The heat feeds her. It does not burn or mar her tanned skin. And though she sweats, it is merely so her skin may breath and rid itself of the impurities that all fire consumes. Lifting her chin, golden eyes quietly scan the wavering horizon. Mirages. Tricky little things, here in the desert.
“You’re wasting your time.”
Mira sighs inwardly at the snide tone of Eryth as he steps beside her, his arms crossing tightly along his bare chest. His eyes flick about, overlooking the expanse before them, hard as flint but just as golden as Mira’s own.
“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion.” Curtly she replies without taking her eyes away from the landscape.
Clouds were building in the distance. Another sandstorm perhaps. Though, the clouds look quite darker, suggesting a heat storm with plenty of lightning and thunder to attend. She likes storms. They were comforting. Lulled her in times when sleep was quite elusive. Though, before her most recent memories could stir her last storm she sheltered from, she blinks a few times, swatting away a sand fly.
“How long are we going to trudge around these damnable sands before you feel you’ve ‘Penanced’ enough?” Eryth’s voice is rather dry. Perhaps because Mira only allows him so much water – a good tactic to help curb his chatty nature.
“As long as I damn well please, ‘traitor of his people’.” She says smoothly, turning to look at him pointedly.
Reaching for her pack she so carefully set upon the ground, she hoists it over her left shoulder, adjusting as needed. The split linen skirt that allows for more breathable travel reaches to her knees, curling about her legs in the slight wind. Taking the water skin, she drinks deeply before grudgingly handing it over to Eryth.
The slave bracer around his neck glints harshly in the midday sun. Though it makes Mira want to vomit each time she looks at it, she bears the brunt of the distaste. Eryth is still her prisoner. After escaping Gent’s stronghold in space, she returned here to the desert. Her initial plan was to dump Eryth here, taking the brace off. However, she found it more justifiable to return him to where their meeting had all begun. Where he had decided to betray his own people. To see that marred earth, the decaying bones of those who once called him brother.
Eryth yanks the waterskin half heartedly from her hands, drinking just as deeply before corking it and tossing it back. The clouds in his eyes mimic that of the clouds in the distance. He shakes his head finally, arms rising and falling to slap loudly at his sides.
“What do you think this is going to prove?” He sounds exasperated.
“Do you have no shame whatsoever? Of all you have done? Even now?!” Brows knit together harshly as she stares directly back at him. She leans her weight upon one leg, her hip jutting out slightly. As women are ought to do when in a mood.
“None. Especially when You, holding your very own slave, demands I feel that shame.” His teeth grit while the words spill from his lips.
Shaking her head, Mira pushes past him roughly, making sure her shoulder connects sharply with his. Her bare feet make no sound across the crusted sands, linen skirt fluttering in the wind as she walks away from him. Her emotions roil inside her. However, she keeps them in check, as she soon hears his own footsteps following behind her at a distance. He would have no choice. If he tries to run, she but has to command him to follow, thanks to the bracer around his neck.
Gods, how much a hypocrite she has become. Killing numerous slavers to free those who were forced to wear a brace- indentured slaves to the highest bidder. And now she waltzes around with her very own. But he deserved it.
At least, that is what she keeps telling herself.