One hand rose to shield her face from the burning sun above but it did nothing to help her. The heat was… bearable but only for the moment; instinct told her she would not survive long in this place without food and water… of which she had neither.

Wincing as the sun hit her eyes the woman cast her emerald gaze to the horizon, looking for a sign of civilisation or a source of water… anything that might help her to survive.

She had no clue where she was or how she had got here… and as if that was not bad enough her clothes were torn, her fingernails broken or lost entirely and she was covered in dirt, dried blood and wounds she could not recall receiving… oh and she had no idea who or what she was either! All she knew was her senses were sharp, her footfalls light and she had wings - beyond that she hadn't a clue.

Despite the heat a shudder ran down her spine. That haunting feeling had returned; that feeling that a memory was within her grasp, that she might remember how she had got here in the first place… all she could remember were voices and names of people she had no emotional connection to or at least not one she could place. All she could feel was a grief in her heart as though something had been torn away from her, again what that something was eluded her but what she did know was her heart ached because of it… and that only made her feel worse.

Every footstep was agony, her wounds needed treating and her body felt as though she had been walking for a millennia… If she hadn't been dehydrated the woman might have been able to muster tears - not at the situation but the sorrow that filled her heart without any real reasoning. Something was missing, something had been torn from her grasp and all she had left was a feeling of emptiness and the clothes on her body…

A couple more steps was all it took before all the strength finally left her body and the woman collapsed to the ground, catching herself on her hands as best she could before they too gave way beneath her. Laying her face in the hot sands she gave a small, dry sob and closed her eyes… the darkness would take her soon… and then maybe she would remember…

Xallithelid was searching the sands for something… he had felt a great magical dweamor, (It had knocked him from his feet) And he was hoping to find a magical item of some kind, newly created by the gods. He had just come from a rift out of a frozen tundra a few days ago, and was not pleased to find he had ended up in a dry desert. A good thing his canteen was heavily enchanted, to be able to hold the same amount of water found in a small pond.

When he came across the dweamor, he was quite unpleased. There lay a woman, A warrior most likely, half dead and half conscious. So much for conserving water, he thought, as he lifted her head and poured water over her face. He looked down to her body, where there where many wounds. Her fingernails were missing and broken, and she was caked in dried blood. He took a flask from his belt, A healing potion, and slipped a few drops into her mouth. She was trembling less as the bitter liquid found its way through her body, and breathing easier. He followed up with a bit of water, just a splash, and then started to set up his tent, to where there would be an easier area to work.