As Long As I Breathe || Paul Atreides

Premonition

Everything inside my stomach expelled out my mouth and onto the hot sand. It was a waste of water, a waste so large I didn't even know if I could ever recover it. But the vomiting brought my vision back, clearing my head in the process. I was so high.

The tube in my stillsuit was sticking out, ready for me to drink my body's recycled water. It was dehumanizing, but I was planning to drink it before a hand moved it from my mouth.

"Drink this instead," Paul ordered, "It's cleaner—and tastes better."

I fought the urge to make a remark along the lines of: Is this the sacred water I was so forbidden from drinking? Am I now worth it because I somehow lived through the Water of Life? Instead, I chose to say, "Thank you."

Moving down my throat, the water was inexplicably cool. I chugged it down like a greedy child after a whole day spent running.

Well, now he knows I drank the Water of life, and Fedaykin don't drink the Water of Life.

"I'm not Fedaykin," I finally confessed. His eyebrows raised.

But then he grinned, letting out a chuckle. "Yeah, I figured that out a few days ago."

"It's not because I'm weak or anything!" I defended but it ended up coming off as a whine, stretching the "anything" and sounding like a baby. "I'm just Sayyadina, it was the only way to secure a spot in the Freman. I'm not native, by the way."

I had just told him something only few know and he was having no reaction. Did this mean he wasn't going to tell anyone because he didn't consider it to be that much of a secret or did this mean everyone already knew?

"Wouldn't have guessed that," he confirmed but he sounded monotone. "I doubt others have."

He was eyeing his mother. Who was somehow breathing, but unconscious and lying on a rock.

"Is she going to be okay?" I worried out loud, following his eyes and looking at her.

"Yes," he reassured, looking back at me. "She's trained to dilute poison, like you. She'll be fine."

"I'm not trained to dilute poison." Sand flowed between my fingers as my eyes were dead-set on looking anywhere but at Paul. "I don't know how I lived."

"I'm glad you did, though, Sarelle." He smiled at Sarelle. He was messing with me.

"You can just call me Ellie. And I don't just tell anyone that I'm not native, okay? Don't go off informing everyone, 'Elaine is not actually Fedaykin!'"

"I would never tell anyone any of those things, Ellie."

I looked back at him, my eyes struggling to pick one of his to focus on. Explaining why the nickname felt so right on his tongue was a challenge for another day, and it left me tongue-tied. I opened my mouth to thank him, but no words came out.

Suddenly, screaming erupted from behind Paul's back. I've never been so grateful for Chani's presence. She was arguing with Stilgar and had her friends backing her up, most of them whom I didn't care to memorize their names because of their relationship to her (why would I want to engage with people who actually like her), but I knew Shishakli. Everyone knew Shishakli. She was vibrant and outgoing, the better version of Chani, although they were basically siblings.

They were fighting in their native tongue, the one I can't recall if Paul could understand or not. I hope he didn't. I beg he didn't. But, given his subtle reactions like the minor raise of an eyebrow or twitch of his lips, it seems like he did.

"The Lisan Al Gaib must be Freman!" Shishakli argued in her foreign tongue, the roar of the crowd behind her supporting her.

"You cannot deny the prophecy," Stilgar preached. "It's written in the stones!"