Winner of the 'Readers Choice Award' in Historical Fiction.
Winner of the 'Readers Choice Award' in Spiritual Category.
Winner of Best Muslim Readers' Choice Awards: Prince of Knights
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Arabs are well known for their culture, Po...
Enjoy the chapter guys! Am sure it'll be a shocking one!
Faris ^.^
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Rashideen Tribe
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~*And I tell myself, a moon will rise from my darkness.~* Mahmoud Darwish.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.
The Fajr prayer caused Faris to sit straight and knead his eyes. He could not sleep, being in his enemy's tribe looted his slumber and that caused his brain and body to feel tremendously knackered. He ran his hand down his shoulder-length hair then peered at the ring on the small finger of his right hand. This was a ring his grandfather had gifted him, a ring that publicized his supremacy over others, over his siblings and cousins and this was the ring that welcomed on his shoulders.
Prince of knights turned his head to his right and breathed. What was he to do with this gullible woman? They were in the quarter of their marquee in order to slumber. However, as soon as the sky intensified the sprinkles of its darkness Raghad had snatched a coverlet then marched by the drape of the quarter to keep her distance from the man whom she rebuked to speak with or even glance at. Faris was exasperated but knew he could not do anything. The woman was mulish as a stick and she would not soften until it has rained. Then again Faris cherished the quieted that came with her hushed treatment, he took pleasure in their detachment.
The groom looked at the lantern that hung just above Raghad's head permitting his thoughts to linger. He pondered on his conversation with Badr and knew detaining his stay here will not aid them discovering their foes. To aggravate him further than conceivable, Jabber's words would tip toe in his brain. Faris growled, flung aside his coverlet then rose to his feet. His hand reached out for his headdress, his sword and with that Faris marched away from their tent towards the masjid to perform his prayer.
The sky was dark with layers of clouds decorating it, and the breeze that tangled and untangled his thobe around his legs was mild almost as if welcoming him. Faris looked around, this tribe was different from his, there were tents everywhere he glanced. To the right of the tribe, there were innumerable farms and herds whereas the left of the tribe was ornamented with tents. His sandals crunched tiny stones and the moon dowsed its thirst from his sight. At this, the neighboring stars shook their head with a tender sigh that rattled the wind, muttering the moon's eccentric behavior.
