Kala Wukar.
She who walks the desert.
She who is one with the sand.
She who is one with Arrakis.
The girl who he dreamed of long before she came to him in reality.
Aphra of Arrakis. The Desert Walker.
(Dune; Paul Atreides)
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chapter seven: to find ones destiny
~
Pain. Pain beneath the skin, beneath the soul, beneath the universe.
She walks before him, encased in dripping gold. Her eyes, now purest amethyst, ringed with gold. She cries, even with a smile on her face, but as he reaches forward to catch those precious tears, he sees beyond the dune they stand on.
People fight below, raining blood on the sunlit sand. Those from the Outer World against those who rise from the desert. Screams of war ring out in the open sea. Sandworms emerge from clouds of dust over the crowd and he sees himself amongst the fighters.
Burning corpses piled high. A hand coated with bright red blood in the orange skylight of the setting sun. The banner of Atreides waves high in the clouded skies of Caladan, a ship floating high above. He was there once more, looking down upon those who fought in his name, in her name who stood beside him.
Fear. He was afraid. Of a war in his name.
Fear. Of himself.
Fear.
~
Aphra had become numb to the pain she felt in her heart, to every devastating emotion that had wracked her body since they departed Arrakeen. No words had been spoken between the two survivors, only short shared glances and brief comforting touches. They were too tired to try to find fallacious words to try and create logic and hope in a situation that had none.
Outside of the city of Arrakeen, placed on a cliffside that overlooked thousands of miles below, was the home of Liet Kynes. And there she stood on her balcony, trying not to weep at the devastation.
"Stay here," Duncan ordered sternly as he jumped from the ornithopter and out onto the makeshift balcony below.
Aphra didn't have the energy to argue or fight. Her head leaned back, tears spilling from the outer corners of her eyes as she closed them. She continued her frantic search for the signs of Paul Atreides. She knew deep down that he was still alive. He had to have been. Some part of her told her that she would know if he were dead, she would have felt it in her bones. But the panic still remained, digging deep into her skin like thousands of needles pricking deep. She longed to see him again, to hold onto him as she had done before she had parted his room the night before.
Her lips moved as her mind reached out in echoing murmurs.
'Paul. Come to me. Tell me where you are. Paul...find me.'
Aphra didn't know if it was possible that such a message would reach him, but something in her mind told her to try. Somehow, in some way, he would hear her, he would listen for her voice and he would find it.
