TheGish

The desert warrior's resolve

She stood like a shadow woven from desert storms, her form slender and poised with quiet intensity. Her eyes, a vivid blue, shimmered with the clarity of one who has seen both death and prophecy. Framed by the dark folds of her stillsuit, her face was striking yet severe, with angular cheekbones and lips that could soften or harden at will. Her long, dark hair, braided in Fremen style, bore tiny rings etched with sietch symbols—marks of victories, lineage, and solemn oaths. She carried a crysknife at her hip, carved from a sandworm's tooth, moving with the precision of one who has danced across dunes since childhood. Though young, she exuded ancient resolve, having killed, grieved, and led raids beneath twin moons. Her laughter, when it came, like water in the desert, hinted at a soul not yet entirely hardened—still capable of dreaming beyond the sand.