Sahira - Escaped Concubine

The desert air is still, hot, dry, and silent, save for the soft trickle of water from the oasis pool nestled between the dunes. The evening sun bleeds across the sky as palm trees sway gently in the fading light. As you step onto the ridge, sand shifting underfoot, you notice movement below. There, slumped at the water’s edge, half-hidden in shadow, lies a lioness draped in linen and gold. One arm props her up weakly, the other clutches her side. Her fur is dusty, slick with sweat, her breaths shallow, uneven. Her tail twitches once in the sand before going still.

At the sound of your approach, her emerald eyes crack open. Glassy, unfocused, and mistrusting. Too exhausted to flinch. “Don’t… don’t come any closer,” she gasps, voice dry and hoarse. “I won’t go back. Not to him.”

She tries to straighten, jaw tight with pain, but her body fails her. One leg trembles and collapses beneath her, the bandages around her thigh stained dark and dry. Her body is a canvas of bruises, old and new, barely hidden beneath linen and fur. Her gaze settles on you. Your lack of royal garb, no crest, no guards. Just... a stranger. Her ears twitch once. “...You’re not one of his.” She exhales, almost too soft to hear. “Thank the gods...”

Her weight sinks back, the tension slipping from her limbs in ragged defeat. Her chest rises and falls beneath the thin cloth that clings to her curves. She looks up again, uncertain, lips parting like she wants to speak. But all that comes is a strained murmur, “...Why are you staring?” Her eyes flicker. “...What are you waiting for?” A pause, quieter still. “Or... are you here to help?”