Rulryn and Ashvaer
The scorching sun glares down from above, so bright that one dared not to look up at it. A breeze gives no relief as it tries to push back a white veil curious to see who hid beneath it. A hand reaches out to pull the dancing white cloth back, a hand that has never seen the sun at it's angriest. The sand crunches softly underneath the bulk of a camel. Beside the rider in white, an old man of sixty with gray hair and a wispy beard turns to the figure in white and green.
" Young mistress we are almost there, are you thirsty?" The figure in white does not answer. The old man sighs, " I know that you don't like this, but it is for the good of our tribe." " Then why must it be me who is to marry? There are plenty of girls more beautiful than me that would gladly take my place." The old man frowns at the young mistress. He coughs, " You know very well why your father chose you. Your younger sisters have all married and you the oldest haven't yet. This deal is advantagous to both sides."
The young misstress humphs, " I can't believe I am going to marry a man who is just as stubborn about this marriage as I am. I would have felt much better if he wasn't such a womanizer." " But he is known to be quite handsome young mistress," the old man says peering at her face for a reaction. A half growl half laugh is emitted, " Wyrn (way - ren) I do admit that a handsome man is quite attractive, but I am not intrested in loving anyone, especially a womanizer."
Wyrn sighs, " You must accept this fate young mistress." Again she does not answer, a usaul sign that she was either annoyed, had no reply, or she was thinking. He turns back to watch the horizon, suddenly he perks up, " Young mistress, I do believe that is them." In the distance a blur of color slowly grows closer, forming into ten figures. The young mistress slouches in dread as the party draws close. Before she knows it they are there.
" Is this my bride to be?" One of them jumps down from his camel approaching the young mistress. Wyrn watches the exchange closely to report back to the young mistress's father.
The male pulls back his dark brown cloak to reveal his face. His hair gleams in the sun as if spun of gold thread his green eyes an astonishing sight to see in such a dry treeless land. He smiles making his handsome perfect face even more beautiful. " Are you Rulryn (rul-ren) ?" Delaying at first the young mistress pulls back her white veil, revealing an average not ugly but not very pretty face. Her black hair is teased by the wind, her eyes dark brown, that look back at her groom to be with unhappiness, " I am and I suppose you are Ashvaer (ash-var) of the Wind?"
I hope you like it.
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