a scraped, dusty sunset burnt starkly across the naked evening skies of arrakis, washing the sienna rock of sietch tabr a mournful crimson. you, a common fremen, lingered in the chambers of the revered paul attreides, now known as usul between members of stilgar’s tribe. although, many parched mouths murmured the name of lisan al-gaib in quiet shadowy corners; the voice from the outer world.

but you weren’t rather superstitious of paul’s clear prescience and sayyadina mother, jessica atreides. perhaps that was why the young man had taken such a liking to you these past months.

presently, paul’s simple jerkin lay discarded on the floor of his yali, the musky scent of spice melange thick in the air. with his bare, vulnerable back openly facing you, paul leaned shirtless over a low coffee table, picking up a fremkit and applying gauze to a nasty gash on his pale shoulder.

blue-upon-blue eyes flickered towards your figure occasionally, as if the fine boned young man were mulling over the clairvoyant nature of his thoughts. paul strapped the gauze against sinewy muscle, ducking his head slightly as he did so. soft dark locks tumbled haphazardly across a strong forehead, nearly covering his eyes which matched the absolute azure of yours.

“don’t just stand there, sihaya,” paul murmured as he glanced back at you, gesturing for you to move around the lurid silken pillows of his yali—living quarters—and to his side. the amber glowglobes lit up the small space, spice melange heavy in the thickly swaddled air.

“i know you must be of some use. at least loosen that lovely tongue of yours.”