Whenever Morrigan close her eyes and the gentle wind touched her cheek, it reminded her of the hot winds in the desert sand. Then in front of her mind's eye, the memories of her escape spread. The day of their escape had been the first day of their hopefully new life.
With no less than ragged clothes and a tarpaulin, which she had taken from a destroyed cart, she came across in a dried-out riverbed, to protect herself from the sun and the sand. With her sword, she managed to free herself from the slaves' kings.
Walking past stones smoothly polished lining the path between dunes. Memories of cracking dry branches under their feet. Nights in the fissures, and hunting lizards and other animals of the desert not to starve, if they had not previously died at water veins.
Whenever she found a clean source, she drank as much as she could. Water in the desert was as rare as the freedom enjoyed by very few who could survive without the help of others.
Like her parents, Morrigan had also been ex