Verses of the Black Sands

TW: Themes of violence. The following is a work of fiction.

The Ruins of Hrathen.

They were thought to be guarded by ghosts and demons. The city had fallen centuries ago.

“This desert sand seems to cling to everything,” Laukey mused, standing in an attempt to rid himself of the black grains. It did cling to everything. Even the shelters at Belfin had been ingrained with the stuff. Urla had it all through her hair and the grit needed to be upturned from boots. But it was part of what living in the place was.

She met his eye with stony silence.

“You can ignore me all you want,” Laukey said. “You will need to speak eventually, I suspect you will fall into madness, otherwise.”

Jira, a woman of Urla’s own age, whom she had known since childhood had spoken until she was ten, at which point she vowed an oath of silence for reasons Urla couldn’t tempt from her. Jira did not speak again for a year. She had been a wilful child and a more wilful woman. One of conviction.

Urla did not know what she hoped to gain by maintaining her own silence except with the small hope of irritating Laukey. He watched her carefully, then lunged forward, a slight frown creasing his forehead, knocking her backward, she grabbed the hilt of his sword, half drawing before her stopped her.

“You’re a clever fox,” he grinned crookedly. She glared at him carefully. He had moved for her with complete control. It had not been out of anger, and so she had been taken by surprise. She would have sensed anger. His cold blue eyes had bored into hers as he sent her backward, gauging for her reaction...

He was something far more dangerous than anger.