She was standing on the narrow pathway on the mountainside, picking the precious Healing Flowers from the cliff face and putting them into an old basket. A group of men approached, marching two by two along the narrow path. They bore the symbol of Atlantis on the shoulders of their flawless white uniforms. She stopped in mid-reach, her arm in the air.

"What is your name woman?" a stern looking man demanded.

"My name is none of your concern." She said lightly

He stepped forward and grabbed her wrist and pulled it down. "How many of these Healing Flowers have you taken?"

"I take only what I need." She tried to twist out of his grip, but he only held her tighter.

"These flowers are becoming rare. If everyone just helps themselves, the species will be totally wiped out." With his other hand he grabbed her fingers, and wrestled the basket from her hand. It fell to the ground, spilling the beautiful cream-colored flowers onto the path. The wind picked up, taking one whole flower and sending it up over the men's heads. All the while, the solider gripped her fingers, crushing them.

She clenched her teeth. "Let go of me."

A voice sounded from further down the path. "Move aside." The men parted and a man walked between them. "Release her."

The man let go of her hands and snapped to attention. She dropped to her knees and swept the bruised flowers into her basket. She looked up as she heard the man approach her. He was shorter than the others, and handsome, even by Antlantian standards. He had a strong jaw, short dark hair and green eyes. There was a kindness in his face that she had not seen in the other men. Without looking back at them, he ordered the men away. When they were alone, he dropped to one knee in front of her.

"I thought Atlantian soldiers hated to soil their uniforms."

"I'll have it cleaned." He gave her a lopsided smile, which quickly faded. He took her hand gently and turned her palm upwards. She forced back a blush at the warmth of his touch. He pressed the flower he had into her hand and closed her fingers over it. They were frozen there for a moment before she pulled away.

"What is your name?"

"Maia."

"Tell me why you need so many flowers." He said softly.

"My daughter," she said, looking away, "She's very ill." She picked the last flower out of the dirt and stood. "I have to return to her." She ran down the path without looking back.

Without knowing why, he followed her. He stayed far enough behind so he wouldn't be seen. Maia seemed so preoccupied that he felt he could walk at her side and go unnoticed. For a moment, he found himself wanting to walk beside her, so instead he hung back. She ran along the path barefooted, and her cotton dress ruffled in the light breeze. Finally, she stopped at a small outcropping of rock, clamored over it, and disappeared into a small shack. She let the door slam shut behind her, and it creaked back open on rusty hinges.

He crept to the ledge and was just tall enough to see over it. She watched her working in the kitchen. She took a mortar and a pestle and ground a few of the flowers with a bit of water. Without a sound, he lifted himself over the ledge and stood for a moment at the door. When he stepped onto the old wood floor, she jumped and turned.

"You followed me!" she shouted, "How dare you come here."

"I'm sorry." He said, "I was curious, about your daughter."

"She is not your concern." She slammed the mortar and pestle down and turned away from him. "Now get out."

"In the city, we may have ways to treat her. She could be well."

She gripped the side of the basin that served as her sink. He could see that her eyes were closed tight. "I promise you," she whispered harshly, "there is no place in Atlantis for her—for either of us."

"We have technologies—" There was another creaking sound, and his eyes were drawn to a door at the other side of the room. A tiny girl emerged. She had her mother's dark red hair, but everything else was very strange. Her skin was nowhere near the color of an Atlantian, but instead was a pale, creamy blue. Her eyes were a shade lighter than her skin, and were offset by a pinprick of black in the center. Though one hand was a tiny, blue version of an Atlantian hand, the others had long, thick nails, and though the palm was turned away from him, he knew it held the mark of a Wraith.

Without a thought, he swung the old crossbow that he wore on his back over his shoulder and into his arms. He pointed it squarely at the girl as the tip of the arrow began to glow blue.

"No!" Maia shouted. She ran to the girl and picked her up, turning her back to him. Now the little girl was eye level with him, her eyes boring into him. "I know the Atlantians don't think much of those who live on the mainland," the mother said to him, "but they will not look kindly on a soldier killing a defenseless mother and her child."

"She is not one of us. She is Wraith."

"As is that weapon, if I'm not mistaken."

He hesitated an instant longer before lowering the weapon.

The girl looked strait at him, "Mother." She said, her voice was very small, but sweet. "Mother, I am starving, but it's three days still."

The woman settled her to the ground. "Then it's time."

"Mama, no—" her eyes brimmed with tears.

She put two fingers to the little girls lips. "It will be alright Liu. Just for a moment." Without turning, she spoke to him. "If you do not wish to witness this, you should leave."

Stunned, he didn't move. He watched as the girl lifted her trembling hand and laid it against Maia's chest. A shudder went though her body, then she threw her head back, and screamed.