The Rain Dancer's scent was easy to follow. It drew her. A longing. A yearning draw. The smolder of passion, the intimate tandem of the heart. Like the Desert would seek the Rain.

Soaked in the wet slick of water to douse the dry spell of sand.

The black river of braid snaked a black asp of a serpent to her spine. Long.

Gold.

It was the color of the silk worn.

Crimson cords.

Ba'shara would pay homage to both the Rain Dancer and her own Goldmine blessing of a name. Regal for a moment she would seem as she stood in the silent hush of Ghost Town.

The scent of Madison was everywhere... but like rose petals to lead a lover to a bed where her partner waited... the perfume of the Rain Dancer ended.

There at the once hotel. A moment of understand that this hotel was hers. A gift that was not a desert mirage.

Lost in her own thoughts she had forgotten everything around her. Every one.

A grunting sound, muffled growl of disgruntled annoyance. Brought her back to the present and away from the intimate nature of her deepest secrets, sweetest sin of thoughts.

The Egyptian smiled to the Guardian. Molten sun warms as she looked to Horam. The one to walk the road for her.

A new journey to unfold.

"We are here..."

The Outskirts of Ghost Town reminded her of home.

A different feel to that desolate, barren stretch of land. More Mojave then Sahara.

A Valley of Death.

In the roaring hours of night when the shadows were a gaping maw of a death hunter, none of it mattered.

Four feet under rather then two, the beast waited. Belly to sand and rock.

Tail swished. A count down.

Black velvet was a suitable companion to death and torment.

Better then Blue.

Deep in those shadows a drunken soul in passing might have mentioned to friends the sight of a panther prowling.

Here?

Friends of a drunkard would laugh and jest. Slap shoulders in good humor.

Thick in the shadows there was no mirth.

Ears flat to skull, snarling in brutal ivory flash.

The beast would hunt tonight.

Not even a glimmer of moon threading a mark to bring the gold of heiroglyphs ensnared in obsidian would keep her pacified.

It didn't matter if the Guardian joined.

Killing Time.

Killing Time.

The thought, the hunt held a moment of promise.

Moments had faded.

She still felt desolate. Empty.

The hunt in itself had satiated the beast

The Egyptian hadn't found that peace.

Breathing in the night, molten suns watched horizon.

Knew the fight well of Dawn and Darkness.

Desert paint of fingertips brushed, phantom danced on the collar worn.

"Love spell."

Gold seemed to spill with obsidian, mate and blend, seemed to leave a sensation on fingertips that she could not get rid of.

A burden. The collar was understood with but a word.

Desert paint of fingers buried in the sleek black river of hair. Left it in wild currents, rolling rapids.

Drop to knees in the anguish of such revelation. Double over and the shaking of silent sobs would rest heavy burden on ribs.

Tore at heart. Split the soul.

The whisper haunted her.

Head lifted. Figured it another spirit torturing.

A trick.

Desert paint of fingers moved underneath rain kissed lashes of the Sphinx's tears.

Composure regained.

The Egyptian could not deny that call.

Out into the darkest hours of night before the dawn could awaken.

Drawn to that spectre of Rain Dancer, the Egyptian was perhaps a Sphinx again.

Molten suns simmered, would burn with an unspoken heat to offer the Gunslinger. The sensual curves, the canvas of desert dunes that became the swell of hip and chest and sweet temptation of flowing lines well rehearsed claimed in a blue of another fashion.

Bare foot and Restless.

Nothing mattered so much anymore as this moment.

There to the side of the gunslinger.

No words. Nothing but silence and a bit of warmth.

Sometimes I watch
The wonder in your eyes
That and you leaving
I have memorized...Tori Amos

Up with the morning sun. It brought a refined languid nature to the Egyptian.

A dared kiss. A mountain lion by the hearth. A fellow Egyptian. The presence of the Rain Dancer ever in her life.

These were the drifting thoughts that pooled through her mind as bright fire and thick spice.

A twist in sheets,the desert paint of flesh a sun molten presence against a canvas of white.

Sigh breathed out against pillow.

Ba'shara knew well of the nature of the body, how the spirit could make flesh yearn.

That Drawing Need. Wicked Hunger.

This she had learned from the harem.

Love was an emotion she was denied.

Forbidden to feel, to know.

Lust, Desire well those emotions she knew well.

It was in her blood.

In her Soul.

To inflict, to bring those sensations.

To give love.

A moment's pleasure. Companionship. Follow the orders, the whim of the Pharaoh.

Was this not what she was meant to do?

Ba'shara would ever follow the ways of the harem.

Hiding her heart.

Body, soul, mind those things were so much easier to give then the heart.

Keep them all separate.

Give them love but never your heart.

It was all that was ever known.

An order, a rule she no longer knew how to live by.

Still it was all that was known.

A whisper of the guardian's name, fingers curling at the collar worn.

He understood.

Thoughts thick and heavy left her giving in to the heady slumber of a soul heavy fall to dreams.

Ba'shara dreamed.

Of Fire and Fur.

Ghost Town. Here now she seemed to understand the dead of it. The thick, quiet desolation.

The comb smoothed through the black river of hair till mane of hair spilled into shining dark at her back. Ba'shara had figured the bath would help, that the scent of rose water at her skin again would improve her mood, only to find that she was a fool to think so.

Black robe was curled in her hands, cheek brushing into the fabric. Memory that twisted into older thoughts.

"You see Ba'shara, these are the lessons to be learned."
The collar was eased in place as sullen golds stared at the floor as the thick weight of obsidian and gold ensnared her throat.

Punishment. Her aunt whispered words that fell on the Egyptian's ears that she refused to hear. A look over shoulder. In a room not far away she heard a raging violence. Objects being thrown, some of them sounded like bodies.

Neferete shoved her hard, leaving her to stumble as her hands slammed to the floor and she fell to the floor of the harem she was thrown into.

"There, a position you should become comfortable with. What you deserve for this disgrace."
"How can there be disgrace in love?"

Naive her words. Sixteen years but still that strength of will, the regal grace existed still. Rising to stand, crossing the floor to press a palm to the wall. Knowing on the other side of it was a man enraged, a man she had come to know intimately in heart. Body.

Hand fell away, touched at silk there of life-giving womb. His name soundless on her lips...

Pantomime, mimic she would that gesture. Hand to life-giving womb before her arms ensnared her waist. Head bowing.

Fallen suns her eyes had become. Tears a long river of pain. It all happened again and again. Fingers curled into fists, near to reach for that bottle of rose water to shatter it to the wall.

Her hand dropped in the gesture, sinking down to the floor with those silent sobs shaking shoulders.

Desolate desert her soul had become once more. Choices made. Prices to be paid.

The burden of Beauty it seemed. The words in her mind of the hypnotist would curse her.

Scarab, Pyramid, Sarcophagus, Dancer drenched in gold.

Which would she inhabit?

As she stood, grabbed the robe and slipped it on. Indifferent to her state she knew the answer.

None of them.

Out the door as if shadow born, maybe the sun had burned out in her spirit. Tears on lashes.

Unseeing of where her steps would lead her, she would go there blindly.

Haunted by her own long nights.

Restless without a spot for soul to call home.

Falling a part. Breaking inside. Shattering the remains. The torment of that collar was becoming a thick torture to her spirit. Horam had made all attempts to free her of it. Nothing had worked.

Forever enslaved.

The Marketplace had been found again and like the nature of fate to mock her, a Raven had returned.

Her Raven.

One that had understood her spirit and accepted the duality without question from the beginning.

Why with him did it feel like history had repeated itself? That this was just another moment frozen in time to take her breath away.

Kindred spirit. Lost Soul.

Like herself.

So lost.

None of it was understood but she yearned for answers. For understanding.

Why did time seem to stand still, the rest to fall away into the background of her awareness when he was seen.

Some matter of significance that eluded her. There was only one resolution.

She had to see him again.

She couldn't keep her head above water. Or perhaps she was left in Quicksand.

The Egyptian knew nothing of love. Knew how to lie to make a man believe her affections were alive and vivid. This was how the harem born had felt.

Clayton had voiced his affections. That he wanted her. As more then lover. As mate.

She could not confess that when he had taken her spirit into his own and invaded that sacred territory of her mind she had seen the same. The future.

A desert mirage.

This was not meant for her. It could not be. Nothing that she deserved. So she would believe.

The connection of the Rain Dancer had returned. Embraced. Spoke their secrets in a quiet room.

The Egyptian was tempted to take her leave of Ghost Town, find her place with the Rain Dancer again.

After all it had been the Rain Dancer she had followed, walked that long dirt road to trail after. Shadow Enigma with Gold haze.

Her heart Ba'shara had found was only so large, could only fit so many.

Conflicted.

A heart to follow, to take towards that which would make her truly happy.

Her joy would not come without consequence. A price.

Was it worth the risk for happiness?

She stayed with the Rain Dancer in her kept room at the Red Dragon Inn that day and through the night.

Kindred Spirits with silent souls.

Lost on their own broken roads. At least they had each other. Forever and Always.

Heart sworn.