Sarife

Faridah inhaled the desert air with an easy familiarity. The wind was not so bad right now, and so she need not be concerned about breathing sand. the horse underneath her was well-suited for such terrain, though just like her, he was a cross of the Sarifan breed and one of the hardier Valanian types. Perhaps that was why they'd taken so well to each other two years ago. Another horse was on a long lead and trailed behind her. She had brought the mare not only as a relief mount, but also so that carrying back an imprisoned Lucius would be that much easier.

Her report of his flight to the emperor had been immediate, and his response had been unrelenting: fix this mistake, or don't ever come back. The terms of her exile were to return with Lucius Vii Delacroix alive, or consider herself hunted just as he was. Apparently, Faridah's blood was enough to condemn her, as if she had consciously allowed his escape or something. She was still not feeling all that charitable about this set of circumstances, and honestly part of her simply considered accepting the exile and leaving. It was not as though, for all her service, Sarife had ever done her a good turn.

But that sort of embittered thinking was dishonorable at best, reprehensible at worst, and she did not wish to dwell in such a frame of mind. So instead, she'd taken up her glaive and her white horse and decided to at least attempt what she was being asked to do. She had a feeling she could at least guess in which direction he as headed, and there was a small town not so far from her current location that made for a good start.

Orders or not, Lucius had made a fool of her, and she was not disposed to appreciate it.