"Abudance"
She'd been to the ocean, once, back when she was young. It was still at least marginally safe to travel, then, so her mother had taken her and her brother south.
Riza had hated it, at first, the long hot rides in cramped economy trains, with nothing to anticipate but weather going even hotter. But lord, if she'd but known what lay before her, if she'd known of that vast and winded plain, of the soulful blue-green-gray that stirred itself up and forward, of the weeping breeze that pushed the nauseous heat backwards to brood over streets so far from her – if she'd but known, she'd have gone with joyous heart, with bent knee as a suppliant, joyous before the proposition of seeing the face of God.
He smiled when she promised that she'd take him there, take him to see that ageless expanse, to feel that faithful breeze. He reminded her that it wasn't safe to travel, now, even for someone like him. She sniffed, gently, and told him that he was a fool if he thought she'd let anything happen to him.