Fishblight Mire ✢ Sɨnɨɨh

I will steal this hehe

The dunes had given her nothing; no glimmering palaces, no whisper of a kingdom lost to time. So, north she went. Foolish, perhaps, for a woman born of sun and sand to seek refuge in the land of cold, but Shiruyeh had never been one to yield to reason when curiosity called her elsewhere. And besides, spring had begun to ease the worst of winter’s bite.
Yet, even in this milder season, the morning air pricked at her skin, the mist curling around her limbs like ghostly hands. She should have been south, basking in golden heat. Instead, she wandered here, where the air was thick with damp earth and the scent of pine; then, the river.
She stopped, ears pricking forward as the scene unfolded before her. A man, tan and broad, waded into the waters, his focus sharp. Hunting, fishing; whatever it was, Shiruyeh could see at a glance that he was utterly failing at it. She watched, amusement glinting in her eyes, as he plunged beneath the surface. A moment passed. He emerged, victorious in nothing but his own misfortune, empty-pawed and dripping.
A smirk curled upon her lips before she could stop it, and when a laugh finally slipped free, it was light, teasing, edged with mischief. „Such a skilled fisherman,” she mocked, her voice honeyed, playful.
She was not certain yet if he was amusing enough to endure the damp and the dirt, but he had, at the very least, made her pause. And that was worth something.