Days were long and relatively idle since the threat of Tio had fallen upon our heads. Aside from the bustle of military training, the herd felt at ease. We had a tension, but it was not as though my kin did not trust in our guardians' abilities to keep them safe. Our soliders and myself were quite content in our training, and though the first few weeks had been quite nerve wracking, I had grown less weary knowing that the Grey would not side so easily with an imbecile. The weight that sat heavily upon my brow now centered around the face of our late General, Azzuen, his absence upon my heart. I could mourn his death for ages, but that would still not bring his vivacious soul back to this world.

To chain him to my home would be the opposite of what I desired for his life, for any of the lives of those who lived within my home. His time had passed, and though I was saddened by his absence, there was a peace in my soul to know that he had not died at the hands of any other force but his own. With the look on his face, like a sleeping child, the Tuuli's beloved general passed much the opposite of his twin. I could secure him no greater fate. I pray that when my time in this world is finished, I too rise just as blissfully.

My eyes are half closed as I watch the sun fall below the horizon, being eaten by the crimson waves of my home, but bathing them in the last golden rays of its light. We of the desert are blessed by the Sun, though I often think his blessing more of a curse. Still, I would not trade my home for any in the land, as the open sky above me is home even if the red floor is not. Unhindered by trees, hills, and mess, the desert sky is one beautiful expanse, horizon to horizon, unbroken. This is what I desired of my home. My mood is somber as I watch the sun sink, but I am still alert. The plodding of hooves stirs my ear to fall to the side, listening carefully to the approach of the giant without any showing concern.

She smells foreign, but if I need protect myself from this I am unfraid. Reluctantly, I turn my face away from the painting of vibrant colors toward the buckskin mare, feathers blowing in her mane as the wind shifted, my own mind setting its course natural with nothing but a sway of my head. "You may just call me Kri," I say flatly, but at least she did not scrape down and call me "Queen" or "Sultana" like some. I hated the titles of royalty, had no use for them. I was nothing but a soldier, a warrior, and the thought of wearing a crown had still not settled well in my gut. "Since you know my name, I suppose someone has brought you here, neh?" I ask, my voice gruff and masculine. "Their name, please?"
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