Catina never had a reason to hate her strange appearance. Her golden hair and deep brown eyes- eyes that could be mistaken for red- had never caused her any misfortune. Until one night, the great conqueror arrived- a man who wanted the world for him...
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Soleia enters the tent. Her face falls in pure relief at the sight of me. Without any thought, I rush to her.
Her arms open to me, an embrace that I was not expecting.
Her tears come freely, her sobs shaking her whole body as we both fall to our knees upon the floor.
"Mikabellum...I thought..." she continues crying, unable to get the rest of her words out.
She looks up at me, and a sudden pain comes to my chest at the sight of this woman shedding tears for me.
"They took you away. They wouldn't let me see you. I didn't know what they were doing or how you were and they..." she shakes her head, her sudden burst of emotion quickly dissolving as she hastily wipes away her tears.
"Thank you." It's all I can whisper to her as she covers her face with her hands. She nods at my words, inhaling deeply before rising to stand. I stand with her, staring at her, evaluating her. I had never thought Soleia cared so much for me. I had guarded my feelings so closely that it had prevented me from seeing.
"I apologize, Mikabellum."
She walks past me. It is only then that I notice the box she has picked up from the floor.
I look curiously at it. A sad smile comes across her face. "There is a guest," she whispers. "The Great Leader has brought a tribe back. Their leader is here within our camp. I was ordered to...prepare you."
A tribe. He brought a tribe back. Was that his mission? Was that where he had been at? What he had been doing? But how? He had left his army, all his men- the best men- to guard me. He had no forces for conquering. He had taken nothing to cause war. Only himself. But then...he was more the embodiment of war than even I- the goddess of such a thing – was.
I remain quiet as Soleia pulls gently the different fabrics. I am expecting the garments from when I had been tossed into battle. I am expecting the crimson red- that burning robe of the phoenix- to hit my eyes. The circle of the sun to crown my head.
But Soleia surprises me. From her hands a coating of gold lays. It is dull and worn, something that seems rustic and full of age and abandonment.
Gems of green stud under the eyes, spikes of violence rising to be above the wearer, and a rivet of chains hang to fall down to the chest.
It is a violent instrument. A violent looking headgear that has me unconsciously taking a step back.
Soleia does not notice my reaction. She continues to pull out the rest of the charade. Robes that are so white- they blind me- come from her box. She is careful. So very careful. Even the dust that collects upon our feet is an enemy towards the pureness.
"Who...who is here...what tribe?"
It is a useless question. I know none of the nomadic tribes. Whatever name Soleia gives me will be useless towards my survival.
