When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
The Khanhawar leader stood with her black abaya and chiffon scarf billowing in the wind by the river with only the moon above her as company. The moon was many things, but in this land it guided the lost like a compass of hope. Below her, the swollen spring waters churned against the pilings, fighting to escape into the flatland beyond the mountain. The boards beneath her feet groaned and she shifted uneasily. The ground beneath her was a fragile, duck-egg blue colour, like the subtle sweep of a painters brush.
Then suddenly, she felt a presence behind her and with caution she turned around only to see her Baba standing. He halted towards her with a stick in his hand, an indication that he was severely unwell. Yet he had seeped and snaked smoothly past all obstacles, and managed to hurdle the boulders of Malaa's river. For as soon as she saw her Baba it was like her heart melted in two and she was Baba's little girl again.
"Mmahhh my beti ye" Musabah hesitated as for the first time their gazes met and their souls reconnected after years of draught. Images flashed between their gazes of the days when Malaa was only but a little girl running into the arms of her Baba as he told her the lore of his people.
The mountains stood silently in the background, a brooding presence of the sky punching majesty. Malaa walked towards her father and for the first time in ages she laid her hand on his that was resting on his stick. And the brave Khanhawar warrior began to silently cry like the weeping waterfalls of the land.
"Baba, I've missed you" Malaa hymmed as she clenched her fist in anger of how her family had the audacity to create a bridge between her and her only parent. Malaa's mother was far gone for childbirth had strained the young vixen so much so that her days were cut short. Musabah had cared, cradled and protected Malaa ever since. He was reminded of the early days in the lone room with his baby girl crying and him struggling to satisfy her needs. He never thought he would be enough for Malaa, yet he had become the most precious thing to her.
"I've missed you too ye beti. The kingdom, the halls, the rooms, oh how I've missed the sweet laughter of ye Malaa" Musabah chimed, as his face scrunched up in a pout and the old father began to cry. Malaa opened her arms, wrapping her now fragile father in her embrace the same way the river hugs the rocks it glides over. She felt Musabah tense and release as he let himself be held by his only daughter.
"They've created so much hatred in my heart beti! I hate them for chasing my baby out the kingdom!" Musabah roared for he had tried his best to contain his emotions but the truth was pouring out of him like the waterfall's screams.
"I've never felt so... Alone ye" Malaa cried as she held tighter to her Baba. Musabah lifted his head up and grabbed Malaa's face in his hands.
"Baba is sorry ye" Musabah weeped for he knew that he should've done more for his daughter. Her mother would never have let it get this far, Musabah felt like a cowardess father neglecting his daughter only for the royal blood. The fragile father would never be able to forgive himself for the choice he made on the day of the flame blade.
