Fixed her corset, put her on a low bench and coloured her in. I did not draw those crates around her, I just needed something to test the setting. Isaia is yet to draw the background, and I’m sure he’ll come up with something better that properly illustrates the scene. He always does.
But for now, here she is 🙂
Here’s an excerpt of the scene from the book:
I huddled in the corner of my prison and wept. I was losing him. I could see it in his eyes.
How do I save you, Faziel?
Thoughts darted through my head but none formed a feasible plan. Guards posted at every possible exit I could see, at every hour and even if I did manage to escape, sneaking into Jebeyan’s tent would be suicide.
The prisoners’ snores rose and fell about me. I closed my eyes, but all I saw was Plio. How many days had Faziel and I wasted here and how many more before it would be too late to bring Plio back?
I looked at my cut and battered hands. How long could I keep this up before those bastards succeeded to take a piece of me? Focus, Haisma. I had to save Faziel and get out of here. Fast. And if I could not use my fists to rescue him, perhaps my wits would help me.
Think, Haisma. What did I know? What could I use to bargain for for his life? Would Jebeyan even listen to me? I had to try. It was then that my elbow touched the bulk in my pocket.
I pulled out the crumpled parchments–simultaneously surveying my surrounding to ensure nobody was watching–and lay the pages flat on the sand. At the sight of Mother’s handwriting, memories of her warmth spilled over me like summer showers. I held onto it, trying desperately to draw strength from it and focus. Focus, Haisma. If there was any knowledge I could use to buy us out, it would be here. Barion had said so. I had to find it.
Mother, give me something. Anything. Get me back home to Plio before it’s too late.
The dim light from the torches made reading difficult but I persisted, word by word, till my eyes bled tears. I had no idea what I was looking for. These were mundane stories of Mother’s day-to-day errands, and neither was it the complete collection of our correspondences. Damn Barion. How could he expect me to work for him if he couldn’t even do his job properly?
Come on, Mother. Your secret has destroyed us in the past, let it save me now.
Why am I doing this? Click here.