(Thanks for the warm welcome and for joining, we will make sure to give Mr. Ikka a warm something as well!)
A few nights into their escape and Arany had already decided that the cold was not her thing. It was almost a bit humorous how, up until just a bit more than a week ago, Arany hadn't even experienced the sensation of feeling her body gradually grow numb as coldness seeped into her skin.
The first week of their escape had been surprisingly merciful; with mild temperatures during both day and night and no sandstorms to speak off, much to the siblings' great joy. Their travels, despite being uncharacteristically kind on the two of them, had been far from pleasant, so not having to worry about their pursuers sneaking up on them in a sandstorm was a welcome relief. But even this was a small comfort when the nights grew longer and the temperatures dropped lower, making each night an increasing struggle. A struggle which only got worse as Arany grew weaker and her holy powers diminished- leaving her powerless in multiple meanings.
She suspected Ajan wasn't doing too well either. It was painfully obvious how his brooding face darkened by each night; just as the dark rings that were starting to form under his eyes. Neither of them were sleeping especially well- neither of them were sleeping at all- and it was beginning to show.
"We can't do this anymore," Arany admits aloud, more to herself than anyone else. Ajan, who is lying by her side in the small cot they dug out from a dune of sand in order to keep warm, doesn't even react to her whispered words. He keeps on staring up towards the stars as if waiting for a sign from above, his body shivering almost violently as he does so.
"Ajan," she repeats, her voice growing more desperate, "we need to keep on walking if we're going to make it."
Without waiting for any kind of confirmation from her brother, Arany crawls out of their small cot and closer to the warm flames of the fire. For a few seconds she does nothing but stare into the brilliant blaze, drawing whatever power she can from the light. After a few minutes of consideration she stands up, pulls her scarf over her head and ties her pouch around her waist, getting ready to leave. She gazes out into the horizon as she plans their route in order to avoid as much climb as possible, knowing they need to conserve as much energy as possible.
It's only then that Arany sights it: a beacon of light, not larger than the campfire of their own, only a small distance ahead. Her first reaction is to panic- thinking the source of the light must belong to the Quilien knights that have been pursuing them ever since the disbanding of their Holy Guard, but it doesn't take long for her to realize that there is neither horses, banners, nor any other signs of the camp belonging to the Quilien knights. No, that is the campfire of another wanderer.
Without a second of hesitation, Arany returns to Ajan's almost-sleeping form and begins shake him, feeling entirely revitalized by the prospect of company, warmth and guidance.
"Ajan," Arany nearly laughs in excitement, "a light. There's a light! We're getting help."
She doesn't wait for Ajan to react before taking down camp, almost tripping over her own robes in her excitement to get to the other, desperately hoping whoever they are isn't just another lost soul in the desert.