[P] no man escapes his destiny

[Jahin]

You… The voice echoes faintly, a whisper that multiplies into many, rippling against the sand-washed stone. He turns in surprise, wondering how he did not hear her approach. Hoof on stone with no noise is a difficult thing to manage. But of course. Despite the silken hood she wears he knows her eyes—viper eyes, eyes like poison ivy. Her daggers glitter beneath the starlight; glistening black obsidian with serpentine handles. Her skin is the color of damp sand and her hair is cropped short and straight. Everything about her is just so; not a hair out of place nor a single fleck of sand-dust on her ivory hood. A soldier, he thinks. “You,” he agrees, flicking an ear back and forth. She looks much how he remembers her from that chaotic night of riot and anarchy but is it possible that there is something even harder, coarser about her? She was made of roughly hewn stone then, but now she is silken-spun steel. It’s difficult to guess what she might be thinking beneath the convenient cover of her hood. It’s even more difficult to guess who she might be working for. He tenses unconsciously, wondering if she has guards stationed in the shadows. It is a time of unrest and suspicion…not altogether unlike the first time they met. She hasn’t threatened to impale him with one of her throwing knives yet, so he figures that is a good sign as any. Her stance isn’t particularly inviting, but neither does she seem openly hostile towards him. They are in a strange, uncomfortable sort of stand off. He is not totally sure what he should be trying to anticipate. There is an unasked question lingering in the silence between them (whose side are you on) but for once he would like to forget about the fall of Seraphina that is the current reigning tragedy of Solterra. He doesn’t anticipate the coming war; instead Jahin is a warrior who yearns for peace. He yearns for a lot of things….he thinks of Makeda and the home he had always wanted to build with her… But dreams and reality are entirely different things and they do not often coincide together. “Jahin” he offers finally, wondering whether or not she might share her own name. It seemed unlikely, what with the secretive hood and all but it would be nice to put a name to such a mysterious, reappearing face. "Nice gear." He looks away from her viper eyes briefly (but not totally trusting that she wouldn’t toss a dagger at his exposed throat on a whim) to admire her handsomely arranged armor and weapons. He recalls his own gear lost during the genocide of the Davke. It is long gone and buried along with his people's bones somewhere in the barren desert, probably little more than rust and dust. He then gazes at the massive walls towering around them. It is bigger than he imagined. How is it that on the same night they both came here searching for solitary sanctuary? He doesn’t actually know if that is what she is looking for, but in the vast emptiness that envelopes them both in a silent embrace, what else can one possible seek here?