Pilgrim

Outskirts of Desdem - Sand Horde Camp

It felt good to wash her body and hair after so many weeks of dust baths during their trek south with the army. She had come to one of the many rivers that sprung around the settlement of Desdem and flowed towards the sea.

The land here was starting to shift and change although it still possessed much of the desert qualities of her home. The hues and tones were the same, pastel browns and rusty reds, the land was flat and they could see for miles across the horizon but the ground was harder, firmer and sprouts of greenery flourished everywhere she looked. And of course it was not as hot the desert.

She stepped out of the slow flowing river, knowing the others were nearby, allowing her some privacy, wanting to wash as she did. She allowed the wind to bite her skin, drying herself as fast as she could. She knew that most others were not allowed these sort of moments. Alone. She had developed a bit of a following. Even in an army so large, familiarity settled in quickly. After a days march, the same groups tended to camp close by in patterns that became almost second nature at the end of the day. And you got to know those around. Like the Hassane camel lancers that kept their mounts to the south of her fire, or the red robed veterans of the Zardani raids from the Lantuma Sept, that always made camp just behind hers. Or the group of young acolytes from The Wandering that led the evening prayers to those around before they distributed leavened bread to the neighbouring camps.

It had been only a matter of time before word spread to those nearby who Silina truly was. And she became some sort of figure that those that were discontent with the current Sister Locust tried to gathered around. She tried to ignore them, and never spoke a word against their new leader, but many openly professed that they wished she had been the chosen. In fact many wondered why the Twins had selected a redhead devil from across the sea to lead their people into battle. This new found celebrity status had made her journey across the desert much easier than had been for many others.

When she was again dressed and armed, a score of warriors moved to the river. Most nodded in her direction, mumbling the new title she was now know among those that camped near her. 'Pilgrim'.

On her way back to her small camp she shared with around a dozen slingers from the Aroka Sept, she passed through the centre of the settlement awashed with colourful stalls and loud peddlers, selling and pushing their wares. She craved some more of the pepper jam for her evening meal.

Near the dead tree surrounded by butterflies she saw a tall and slim, toned and muscle bound man. His dark hair and beard were enhanced by black painted eyes. Silina had seen the man before. Some sort of shaman from the Still Valley, that had joined with a group of mercenaries.

Something about the man unnerved her...