You had met many people in your lifetime. You were immortal after all. Decade after decade, millennium after millennium, the faces began to me of together in a cauldron of insignificance. All but one, you noted. Sinbad was not like the other mortals you had met. The way the rukh fluttered around him was almost as blinding as his charm— everything about him drew you in. It came as no surprise when the king met you that he had his fair share of questions, most of which you did not answer. That did not, however, stop you from becoming close friends.

“You interest me, Sinbad,” you said, looking down at the Sindrian king from your perch in a tree. The king had been dosing off, enjoying the shade under the tree you sat, his head propped up by his arm as he laid on his side. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, meeting the little chipmunk that sat near by. He then glanced up at you.

“ I interest you?” he questioned with a quirked brow. “How so?”