[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“This is Uri,” Jasara continued, after a moment of seemingly impenetrable silence. She motioned to Uri, who bowed shortly and put up a momentary fight with Jasara to stand in the forefront of their small group. Jasara sneered in Uri’s general direction. “He is…was…the second in command of the Painted Sand young, until the leader was cruelly murdered by the elders for worshipping the Eye. I’m sure you would have enjoyed Fouad’s company much more than you will Uri’s.”

Uri glared at Jasara evilly and menacingly, but Jasara shrugged it off. It was true…Fouad was as much a believer as Jasara was. He knew the Eye and its power personally like Jasara had. Only his curse could be disposed of, and Jasara’s was a permanent scar of what would never disappear. The ghastly voice did not bother Jasara as it once had; it had made her stronger than those who did not understand it. Jasara was jostled from her thoughts when Khasia elbowed her in the ribs, urging her sister for an introduction.

“And this is my sister Khasia,” Jasara added simply as an afterthought, which made Uri snicker at Khasia and led Khasia to kick her sister in the shin. Jasara rolled her eyes dramatically, embarrassed that her sister and one of the other leaders were acting in such vile and childish ways. “We come to offer ourselves to the forces of the Eye, and to warn you that you will find no success in the camp of the elders. They have become vicious and adamant in their repulsion and disagreement to the beliefs of the Eye. They cannot be trusted and if possible must be destroyed, for though they pose little threat to the forces of the Eye, they will never bend to the will of the Great Eye or comprehend it’s meanings.”

The Priestess Sevora smirked wickedly and nodded in response to Jasara’s words. The leader of the young noticed something in the dark lady’s eyes…something Jasara had never seen before other than in her own reflection in a pool of water. A distant look, one of simplistic connotation, one that could only be required by the extensive act of grasping for something dark and evil that no one should ever be exposed to. Jasara knew that look, and knew that anyone who looked upon both she and Sevora in equal glances would realize the resemblance.

“I need not suffer in silence when I can still hear you moan, whimper, and complain about everything, Naramarth,” Jasara heard vaguely as she snapped out of her reverie. Sevora had snapped haughtily at the Priest, who lifted a brow dully before quelling his expression at Sevora’s glare. She then jerked her head to the entryway flap of the tent, which snapped innocently with the wind. Naramarth moved for the door, but momentarily hesitated as if he were actually waiting for further orders from Sevora.

“Why don’t you take our friends here,” Sevora continued, gesturing wispily to Uri and Khasia. Uri’s dark eyes widened, and he pointed to himself as if to make certain that Sevora meant him. Khasia stamped her foot. Sevora nodded impatiently. “Take our friends here out while I speak to the leader of the willing young.”

“Oh, right! Don’t worry. I forgot your name too! Jasara, just because I don't care about whatever killed Fouad doesn't mean I don't understand!” Uri shouted at Sevora and Jasara angrily as Naramarth moved to restrain and take the boy outside. Khasia was grabbed by the priest too until Jasara pulled her sister away from the man, remembering that the Eye had told her to let Khasia tag along for a while. Uri was led outside, so Khasia and Jasara were left alone with Sevora and Dristi.

“Having control over myself is nearly as good as having control over others,” Sevora murmured, her voice soft but sickeningly slow as if the air she exhaled contained deadly poison or venom. It did not bother Jasara in the least, however. It was a feminine counterpart to the beautiful but deadly voice that haunted Jasara. The tone was soothing after so many years, and Jasara loathed and hated the voices’ tone as much as she loved and appreciated it.

“It is not enough to simply succeed. Others must fail and the elders must die in the process,” Jasara spoke, nodding to Khasia. It was the simplest way to state the young’s current position with the elders. It was win or lose, live or die. Jasara wanted to win and live.