The Point of No Return

The time had come to approach the desert and move even further away from the place she called home. Shalia of course dreaded that, but most of all the waves of heat billowing out the closer they traveled to the sun-scorched land.
Before they left, they secured their needed supplies including proper robes and headscarves for the climate, an extra bedroll for Islana to keep warm at night, a cask of wine as a gift, and some basic items like food and refilled waterskins for the long and daunting journey.

If the young witch needed it, she would offer up the fur coat now stuffed into her bag as a blanket, for Shalia welcomed the evening chill in comparison to this blazing inferno they would be entering. She would miss her beautiful stallion when they had to part, but it was for the best.

The odd attire was comfortable and would take time getting used to. Shalia usually wore little and let her black hair flow wild and free in the mountain breeze.

The only winds here were warm and sandy under a beaming sun, and her hair was pulled back to fit beneath the scarf like she had braided Islana's similarly earlier and now. To keep the elements at bay, she moved part of the scarf up over her nose. The shape of the sunburn wouldn’t be the most flattering, but perhaps she could think of it as some natural, painful warpaint. A mark of her journey like the scar on her brow and the peeling skin of her shoulders from the ride out this way.
She had swiped paint-like pigments across the eyes and nose bridge before during some feasts back home for whatever the Odonine were celebrating then. It made her feel good to partake. Yes, thinking of it like that could give her some peace of mind. Gods only knew she needed it with this temperature.

“Noraura, if you will it, I wouldn’t mind your icy embrace here,” she muttered in Odon under her breath as she looked on into the horizon with a wavering expression of intimidation. The friendlier terrain slowly faded out into golden dunes spanning far and wide like the sea. No going back now.
She wouldn’t demand anything from the goddess--it was not her place-- but a winter boon would be excellent later in the Desert of Skulls.

Being with the caravan would take some getting used to, as would the strange bumpy mounts they called “camels”, but Islana held a look of unexpected readiness as they departed. She appeared more steady than the battlewitch herself. Had Shalia’s words a few days prior gotten to her, or was the experience of a desert for the first time too exciting? Did her reaction seem that way because of the dark haired woman's aversion to heat? Was it just the falcon being alive and well and responsive? All were plausible. Regardless, it was nice to see her not look like a wounded little lamb for she certainly was not that, if this trip had proven anything thus far.