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Lucy tightened all the lids on her buckets and tubes of paint, washed her brushes, and stepped outside the studio as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a fiery glow over the rolling desert dunes. Could she follow Melanie’s advice and trust in the desert and its dreams? Giving love a second chance had worked for her and Tariq. Could it work for Lucy and Anwar? What she needed was a sign.
Her gaze soared upward as a male and female falcon took flight, their mighty wings slicing through the balmy evening air. The unmistakable grace and elegance of their aerial dance captivated her attention.
The male, a regal creature with shimmering chestnut feathers, soared effortlessly through the sky, his wings spread wide as if embracing the very essence of freedom. His sharp eyes, gleaming with determination, scanned the landscape below for any sign of prey. He exuded an unmatched sense of purpose and poise with each beat of his wings.
Beside him, the female falcon, a vision of beauty with her sleek, sable plumage, matched his every move. Her wings, as dark as the night sky, contrasted against the fading light, creating a mesmerizing display of contrasting hues. Her gaze, intense and focused, mirrored her mate's unwavering determination.
As they circled higher, their flight path became a delicate ballet. Each twist and turn was executed with precision and grace, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony. It was as if they were connected by an invisible thread, guiding their every movement. Lucy’s thoughts drifted to Anwar and the night they had spent together when their son was conceived. She found herself yearning to experience feeling bound together, not in lust but love, she affirmed as she glanced again at the falcons.
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a sense of ancient wisdom as the falcons continued their celestial waltz. They seemed to defy gravity, effortlessly gliding through the currents with confidence and mastery. Lucy watched transfixed as their flight patterns changed in unison, as if communicating a secret language known only to them. The male falcon, ever the protector, took the lead, scouting ahead for any potential threats. His wings pulsed with a purposeful rhythm, propelling him forward with astonishing speed.
The female falcon, ever watchful, followed closely behind her male companion, her eyes keenly scanning the landscape. Her slightly smaller but no less powerful wings moved with an elegance that belied her strength. She was a formidable hunter in her own right, her focus unyielding. They were true partners and equals, harmonizing with each other’s weaknesses and strengths.
How she envied their love, Lucy told herself. It was the relationship of equals she sincerely wanted.
As the fading sun cast a golden hue over the landscape, the falcons swooped lower, their flight path curving towards a cluster of Frankincense trees. With a swift movement, the male falcon veered to the right, his sharp eyes honed in on a movement below the fragrant bushes—apotential target.
The female falcon, sensing his intent, mirrored his trajectory. Together, they descended upon their unsuspecting prey, their talons outstretched, ready to strike. With a burst of speed, they closed in, their wings tucked tightly against their bodies.
In a breathtaking display of precision and skill, the male falcon swooped down, his talons finding their mark. The female falcon followed suit, her aim just as accurate. Together, they captured their prey, their feathers ruffling in the gust of their descent.
With their meal secured and their terrain protected, the falcons ascended again, their wings carrying them higher into the vast expanse of the evening sky. In their triumphant flight, they seemed to embody the essence of freedom and power, a reminder of fierce poise in the natural world.
Inspiration struck as they circled ever higher, their silhouettes fading into the twilight. There was no reason to spend her time in Avana pointlessly—just the opposite.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
The next evening, as the sun painted the sky with hues of gold and crimson, Lucy found herself alone in her studio. Zephyr perched on a nearby branch, his piercing gaze fixed upon her. She could sense an unspoken message in his eyes, as if urging her to explore her creative potential.
Lucy's artistic spirit burned brighter as renewed inspiration struck. Wouldn’t it be beautiful to paint Anwar's beloved bird?
She knew that capturing the essence of such a magnificent creature would be a challenge, yet she embraced it with unwavering enthusiasm. With a palette of vibrant pigments and a collection of carefully crafted brushes, she was determined to immortalize the falcon's beauty. With each brush stroke, she sought to convey the falcon's grace, strength, and the untamed spirit that coursed through its veins.
She found inspiration in the earth itself, gathering pigments from the desert's sands, where hues of ochre, sienna, and burnt umber lay waiting to be transformed into art. She meticulously ground the pigments, infused them with her creative energy, and mixed them with her handcrafted oils, blending them to create the perfect hues and textures.
As Lucy worked, the desert wind whispered in her ear, carrying fragments of stories and legends. It spoke of Anwar, whose benevolence and love for nature were known far and wide. Lucy wanted to present her falcon masterpiece as a gift to Anwar, a peace offering reflecting her gratitude for his belief in her talent, the desert's beauty, and the falcon's enchanting presence that had fired her creativity.
With each brushstroke, Lucy poured her heart into the canvas. She meticulously recreated the falcon's fiery eyes, capturing their piercing gaze that seemed to hold the secrets of the desert. The intricate patterns of the falcon's feathers danced across her canvas, their delicate details a testament to the divine craftsmanship of nature.
Days turned into nights, nights into days, as Lucy's dedication to her art consumed her. Sometimes, she painted at night, taking her easel outside and painting beneath the celestial canopy, the twinkling stars bearing witness to her creative journey. The desert, her muse, whispered encouragement, guiding her hand as she breathed life into the falcon's portrait.
Finally, after countless hours of unwavering focus, Lucy stepped back to observe her masterpiece. Frozen in time on the canvas, the falcon seemed to come alive with a vitality that mirrored the essence of its existence. She marveled at her creation, knowing it would be a cherished offering for Anwar.
Her heart brimmed with anticipation as she presented her artwork to Anwar. “I wanted to create something special, someone special,” she corrected. “To hang in your office, perhaps,” she suggested. “My mother wanted a portrait of her grandmother because she loved her the most. And you love Zephyr the most.”
She held her breath, waiting for his reaction, remembering as she did the stony silence that suffocated the joy she had felt in giving her mother the portrait she had painted. Would he think it was a silly present, unworthy of a prince with so much wealth?
Anwar was speechless as he took hold of Lucy's painting. A wave of reverence washed over him as he gazed at the falcon. The canvas seemed to pulsate with an energy that resonated deep within his soul. Gently tracing the intricate brushstrokes with his fingers, he marveled at her ability to capture the essence of the falcon's spirit.
In that moment, he was transported back to his childhood, when he would escape his father’s brutality and wander the desert, feeling the sand beneath his feet and the wind caressing his face. The falcons had always held a special place in his heart, symbolizing happiness, freedom, and the untamed beauty of the natural world.
The more he gazed at the painting, the more Anwar saw more. It was not just a stunning portrayal of a falcon. He saw Lucy’s devotion, her unwavering commitment to capturing a fleeting moment of nature's magnificence and celebrating the majesty of the falcon he so loved. The layers of pigment and the delicate blending of oils spoke of her dedication, not just to her craft, but to him. It was a selfless gift, given only to make him happy.
What to do? What to say?Anwar wondered. He understood the significance of this gift, not only as a physical object and as a representation of the interconnectedness of all things but as a truce. An unspoken agreement between enemies to stop fighting. For a specific time. But how long would it last? Lucy was not here willingly, even if she was determined to make the most of her time in captivity.
“Your gift—nobody has ever given me anything so beautiful and personal.”
“Do you really like it?”
