I ask you girl are you ready to fight?
She had waited there in the prairie, waited for whatever cruel higher power controls the void to take her back, or for the inevitable demise of the land she was placed in. Sayyida had waited patiently, like a lover waiting for their partner to return from a harrowing war, pacing and fretting the arrival of darkness and dread. Destruction had been on her heels in Nordlys, blood had stained her skin as she ran towards her people despite their rejection, towards Pyrrha despite the bad blood that had been bred into them. She should have hated Pyrrha, having been raised to hate the Abbas and their love for Cosmos, but her curiosity had been her betrayer; she had danced around those bonfires alongside the Abba without hesitation, had learned prayers to the Father. Perhaps that is what caused the deaths of her people and the extinction of the Matraan.
When several days had passed and nothing had come of her arrival, she abandoned her post among the rolling hills of the foreign prairie, and set out to explore, for her curiosity had been too overwhelming to bear. Sayyida headed north, against the gut instinct to go south, to find deserts and mountain ranges and ritual bonfires lit upon their towering peaks. And amber eyes could search for the curious little figures dancing around tall flames that spewed smoke into the night sky. But she knew they would not be there, not here, not when their god is dead and so are they. A dead religion, with no one to carry on the legacy, no one to recount the history; it was not her place to do so, didn't feel right to preach of gods she had watched die.
Sayyida doesn't know when to stop, doesn't know what she's looking for, if she's looking for anything at all — she just walks, and keeps walking. She could have gone forever, traveling across the country like a wayward soul, a nomad with no ties or possessions. She may die that way too.
Sometimes she runs, just to feel her heart rattle against her ribs, to be reminded that she is still alive as she pants and heaves, that so many others had to suffer unfortunate ends so that she may continue on. She didn't feel worthy enough, as though her people had died in vain, that their sacrifice wasn't worth it.
The scenery changes, from mountains to flat lands, sprawling golden plains rolling out before her. Slate hooves strike against soft earth, purposeful despite her wayward wandering, head held high as the crisp autumn wind pulls at her ponytail. Amber eyes are searching, seeking a sign of darkness, of black fog tumbling towards her with ill intent, for the fury of a scorned god to scorch the earth beneath her hooves. But nothing comes of it, and she visibly relaxes as the wind settles and the sun dips below the horizon. For the briefest moment, she almost feels at peace.
— i am bad at openings c':
