Overture Downs a haunt of roulette dares

The young bedouin watches as her two cousins begin to weave a delicate duet with their patterns. Though the Luks were not particularly known for their grace [rather it was their brawn and tenacity and strength, which Isleña considered to be much more important], Isleña found the entire thing quite beautiful and sat her haunches upon the earth in order to watch the two race and dance upon the wind in complete contentment

— but when Tashkent gave her an invitational bark, Isleña was quick to kick up her heels and skitter into motion, channeling none of the artistic grace that her cousins ran with, but retaining all of their speed and endurance. She had a lot of distance to catch up on, after all.

Arriving to the place where the two other Luks had converged, Isleña quieted her sprint into a long and languid lope, then slowing to a stop just a few feet away. Her chest too heaved with the effort, but in a way that burned bright and made the small, dark woman smile. “It’s a pity that you should neglect your skills, cousin,” she clearly teased. “Some might now consider you more worthless than a slave.” Lower than Mengu is what she might have said, but rather enjoyed loyal Mengu and did not deign to ridicule the thrall more than was truly necessary.

“What must we do with you, now that you are useless?” Isleña continued the farce, lips tingling with dark humor.