Word Count :: 426 :: Didn't bother to translate her Arabic, but she's basically just asking Hemsut for protection of her soul.
It seemed as though the darkness continued for days, the mind of the small woman wandering about in the darkest of circles. She touched the trees but felt nothing beneath the pads of her delicate fingers. Green eyes watched the blurry figures of others in the distance, shapes she was unfamiliar with but wished to be a part of. Her umm had left her so lonely — but that was the way of it, she claimed. Why would her Sa'adat need the company of others? They could not understand her. They did not need her. She was alone, only with her umm, until the end of days came to them. She was pariah, undesirable. Her mother made it so. It was this that sent her thoughts back into her head.
Cool emerald gaze fluttered open to peer at the golden face of someone unknown — though she was not afraid, all of her muscles turned taught. Strangers were dangerous. This was something that she had been taught early, something she had absorbed, something she remembered. But this place was not the place of her umm, the world of those who were alive. How could a stranger be a danger to her at the gates of Osiris' kingdom? In a display uncommon in the silent woman, one frail hand extended to touch the strong features of the man who held her.
The gesture was interrupted quickly — before she could come into contact with his golden fur, her body protested. Her joints ached, her stomach knotted, and all at once she tore herself from his grasp only to gag and release a wailing moan of discomfort. Something was wrong. The dead did not feel, they did suffer illness, and yet she could feel the nausea overtake her as she vomited onto the grassy earth beneath her, twisting her body away so as not to startle off that which had found her. Her small figure heaved under the weight of her kaftan, fingers digging to remove the belt that constricted her ability to breathe.
"Hemsut، وحماية روح بلدي." A fear lingered in her voice as cold realization that death had not come stuck to the mind of the fake Egyptian, as her voice called to Nile Gods for protection of a spirit that had not yet left her. She was not ready to pass on, even as another wave of pain racked her limbs and stomach. Another gag, another heave, before she tried to pull herself from the ground. She couldn't stay amongst the dead — they would surely take her with them.
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