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Post by rebel! on Sept 9, 2008 20:05:50 GMT -5
It was already hot. The desert shimmered in front of her eyes. Dry wind blew the sand into her face. Grit clustered in her eyes and she blinked furiously to rid it. Her navy outfit fluttered around her. White feathers loosed themselves from her wings and floated away with the sand and wind. Hey long sandy brown hair tangled in the zephyr.
No, she shouldn't. But she was. Her wings beat against the wind, carrying her in the direction of the city. Why? Why was she doing this? She was an angel, she should stay in her place, up in the skies. But wasn't she part of the band...the rebel band...She sighed. Of course she was. And she wouldn't let them down.
The sun was now directly across from her. It burned into her eyes. The dust caught in the air and turned red. Even the air seemed crimson. The desert angel grimaced and beat her wings harder. Crimson. She hated the color. Any reds. They were all violent. And reminded her of blood. She shuddered, midair and flying fast. Her friends used to say she was the fastest flier ever. Well, they had never seen her like this.
She finally reached the city. The sun had set long ago, and there was no moon. The stars were just faint little twinklings in the distance. The sky was pitch black, and no lights remained on. The whole city was dark. The desert angel slowed, her wings beating softly.
She lowered herself...slowly...surely...And finally, she entered one of the homes. It was a primitive thing, with walls of mud and floors of dirt. So she assumed it was a commoner's home. She drew in her magic, bunching it in her fingertips. Her hands sparked steely blue. She was trembling, pushing her magic out as far as it would go, and yet holding it at bay.
She alighted softly on the floor. Her clothes, made of no earthly material, rustled softly. Her bare feet made no noise. She walked quietly to where the family was sleeping. A mother, and one babe, sleeping in her arms. No father. A small tear pricked her eye. She pulled the worn blanket away from their bodies and gasped at what she saw. The babe was covered in viciously deep whip marks, swollen bright red.
She tried to find a spot where she could touch, without injuring her. She found nothing. Anger burned in her but she held it down. Then with a fingertip as white as the moon and smoother than silk, she touched the sleeping child's forehead. It was not a hard touch, she just lightly caressed the babe. And even so, she whimpered in her sleep, clutching her mother more tightly.
As she touched her skin, blue flew from her fingertips, targeting the wounds. The baby stilled, sighing softly in her sleep. The mother shifted slightly, and woke. Her startled eyes found the desert angel. She started to open her mouth to say something, but the angel put a cool finger over the young woman's lips. The mother quieted down, staring at her in wonder, than turning her gaze to her child.
The desert angel smiled, and reached into her tunic. The mother cringed away, expecting a weapon. The angel pulled out a rose, whiter than snow, purer than the best spring water. It gave off a sweet scent. The angel smiled and said in a velvet voice, quiet as the whisper of falling snow. "It doesn't need water," She then lifted a finger and the woman's eyelids grew heavy. And she fell asleep.
The angel then pulled a piece of parchment from her tunic and a quill pen. She found a pot of ink and dipped it. Then she wrote a short note on the paper. It said "Don't tell anyone." Her script was of the finest calligraphy, found nowhere else. She put the paper down, next to the mother and laid the rose on top of it. The air blew around the young woman and her child softly as she departed, going to the house across the street.
The desert angels are here. They have healing powers, as well as bestowal of the magic resistance. It builds in the commoners anyway, but the angels have the power to strengthen it and give it to those who don't posses it. The magicians are still running the government, treating the commoners like slaves and generally being rude, while right under their noses are a race of powerful beings, even more powerful than the demons themselves, working against them. Will the commoners rebel? Will the magicians find some way to control the desert angels? Will they find another way to overwhelm the two races?
This plot is © to me, Rebel. If I ever catch you stealing this you will be in trouble. I spent a long time writing and revising this, and just as long thinking about it, so please, save you and me some trouble?
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