Meri Pehchan

•the murder of innocent hearts•

The two kingdoms had gone into reclusion. Their strengths had been turned to preparing their men for war, inviting their friends and neighbors that they were cordial with. In deep silence the two King's worked with their generals closer than ever. Each day they came closer to the actual war. By the day the air got heavier as monsoon came closer. The wet humidity weighed in on the men and turned their lively spirits sober. Gone was the fieriness that laced their motions earlier in the crisp heat of Summer, instead they crawled at a snail's pace their naked backs turned towards the boisterous sun as they fixed their armors and weapons.

The Persian's had put up a makeshift cantonment at the borders they shared with Loh. An ingenious system of tents had been set up, in the centre was the King's large shelter surrounding him were the most able of his men, and on the very ends of the haven were wooden huts set up for the soldiers. Each night a large bonfire was set up, meat roasted and wine flew plenty as if it were water. Each morning the men turned to the open desert slopes and practiced their movements. Welding double edged swords and throwing punches stronger than their armor of steel. They had extended an invite to the Roman emperor, a man who had paid his allegiance to Shah Hassan a few years ago. However unrest in his own large territory had forbid him from joining them leaving the Persian's all alone.

Samra along with her family had taken refuge in the Persian cantt. She shared Fadahunsi's tent with him, unfortunately, his status as the Army General forbid the two from seeing each other for more than a few minutes each morning. He left at the crack of dawn surveying the preparations and returned late at night after enjoying hearty meals with his men and applauding their strengths. She could in her drunken stupor almost always feel his sturdy arms wrapping around her figure but by then she would be too tired to speak a word to him. It had been three weeks since he had declared war on her homeland and yet their had been nothing but static on both sides. A stillness that bothered her and the nature surrounding them. Everyone waited with bated breaths counting down the seconds until the first attack was launched for after that she knew a blood bath was to ensue.

That night in particular though, as the humid air loosened slightly, Samra could feel the sand stick to her damp hair and skin. The deep blue of the clear skies and plentiful stars that glittered took her back to the home she was born in. In the distance she saw the smoke of the bonfire, sounds of the crackling wood hovered around her. Her fingers held the moistened frock, hitching it up a few inches she trudged throw the fine grains of sand, in search of fresh air. The thick silky mane of hers was tied into a tight braid and then roped around in a sleek bun, although after the busy day she had had with the women in the kitchens it had now escaped and stuck to her neck like second skin. She sipped on the cool lemonade her handmaiden, Zumar had prepared. The cooper cup was cool to the touch and she relished in that, a pleasant change from the constant dreariness of the desert air.

Slipping down on a rock wedged between two sand dunes, like a natural bench, she took her shoes off. Her eyes were lit up with the fires of the enemy — a words she never imagined to use for her paternal family. They had set up camp a few kilometers behind the borders, and were brimming with life as much as theirs were. The war she knew had been a long time coming, insulting her was the last straw. Her heart ached at the realization of the lives that would soon be lost. To save his honor and ego her uncle had rejected the many proposals sent out for peace by Fadahunsi's father, he had brought this impending doom upon his self.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice startled her.

"Feel free to," she smiled.

Shifting to the sides, she made space for Fadahunsi. Their position was just behind one dune, sheltering them from any prying gazes that might turn their way. One could never be too cautious. He inched closer to her, his hand finding hers against the cool rock wrapping it in his sweaty ones he lifted it to his lips. A gentle kiss — one that would be etched on the warmth of her flesh. She passed him a small smile, one full of thanks and love. Her head found his shoulder and in silence the two made up for lost time.