War had been a simple way of life for her people.

Food was scarce, and water was unheard of. Only the strong could monopolize resources, and only the strong could survive the vast wasteland of the desert. This place is a heavenly green slice of earth compared to what she is accustomed to. Even with snow gently sprinkled across the ground and dancing up the trunks of the trees, there was food and water abundant.

She wondered if the people here grew fat with laziness, thanks to the ease in which they lived their lives.

The boy seems irate, unhappy to be in this place as well. Perhaps that was of a comfort to Yazheen, but she does not show it. She continues on in her slow pace, letting him limp behind her. He appears to be grateful to her presence, as he speaks willfully from behind her, receiving a flick of the ear from the speckled mare as she listens. “All you need to know is how to survive.” She states flatly, pausing for a moment to look back at him and observe his cuts and bruises.

“If infection doesn’t do you in, then you’re doing fine.” Her people were not a sort to convey affection or loving affectations, and often the youth that were injured in combat were left to succumb to their injuries. As a sacrifice to the great Sun God. Yazheen had accepted that death would come for her one day, and it would be painful and she would not go without a fight- but it would come for her. She only hoped that she would pass under the heat of the desert sun and return to her ancestors.

“Yazheen.” She answers him, turning her head back around and continuing her slow walk through the lagoon, dipping her head and sniffing disdainfully at the grasses that still poke through the snow.