Post by Amirah bint Qasim al-Khalid on Aug 16, 2017 5:30:28 GMT -5
Amirah was pleased. Or, as pleased as the sixteen year-old girl could feel these days. They would be going back to Zahran. No one else of her family was coming with her, but she had seen this coming, and she was willing to accept the victory no matter how bitter. She was convinced that her father had been poisoned by someone. That his sickness was no fluke. It was too debilitating and too sudden to be true. No matter how skilled a healer Sabriyah could be, there was obviously a detail she had missed in her assessment, a poison more subtle than they knew of in the sands, something vile and from the westerners.
She had already packed her belongings, doing the chore majoritarily by herself, or with the help of her dear friend Zara. While usually she would have delegated the task to a servant, it soothed her to know that by putting her possessions in her chests, they would be that much sooner on the way out of this place. Every folded piece of clothing was a step closer to their departure, and made the resulting voyage real.
Having completed what could be done, she had only to wait. Time moved slowly. She scarcely left the manse, sometimes even remaining in the womens quarters of the home. If she did leave, it was to eat, or get some fresh air. She felt as though this imminent departure could slip from her fingertips at any moment and did not want to risk anything happening to change things. Finally, Sabriyah and Bashir had come to their senses and allowed her to take their father home, and she was clutching to it.
Amirah was curled onto a pile of pillows, slippers on for warmth, and her silks were of a dark purple rather than the recent blacks that reflected her brightening mood. She covered her face modestly as was appropriate her gender, seeing as she was sitting in the open areas where the hostages had access. In her lap, she held a headscarf of hers that had ripped and required mending, silently sewing the needle through the gentle fabric in hopes to repair it. She was not the best at these things, but had learned how to be decent, at least.
Nabir ibn Qasim al-Khalid
She had already packed her belongings, doing the chore majoritarily by herself, or with the help of her dear friend Zara. While usually she would have delegated the task to a servant, it soothed her to know that by putting her possessions in her chests, they would be that much sooner on the way out of this place. Every folded piece of clothing was a step closer to their departure, and made the resulting voyage real.
Having completed what could be done, she had only to wait. Time moved slowly. She scarcely left the manse, sometimes even remaining in the womens quarters of the home. If she did leave, it was to eat, or get some fresh air. She felt as though this imminent departure could slip from her fingertips at any moment and did not want to risk anything happening to change things. Finally, Sabriyah and Bashir had come to their senses and allowed her to take their father home, and she was clutching to it.
Amirah was curled onto a pile of pillows, slippers on for warmth, and her silks were of a dark purple rather than the recent blacks that reflected her brightening mood. She covered her face modestly as was appropriate her gender, seeing as she was sitting in the open areas where the hostages had access. In her lap, she held a headscarf of hers that had ripped and required mending, silently sewing the needle through the gentle fabric in hopes to repair it. She was not the best at these things, but had learned how to be decent, at least.
Nabir ibn Qasim al-Khalid