Note ~ I apologize for less frequent updates. I hit a little bit of a writer's block, but my sister pulled me out of it. Also, I've been working on straightening everything out in my plot line, so I've been having a lot of ponderous moments. I promise I haven't gotten bored with it. ^.^ And yet again, thank you so much for reading!

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Altair paced impatiently outside of Zafar's home, his boots splashing in muddy puddles as he walked. How long did it take to throw on a robe and veil? He sighed and peered at the sun as it waved it final farewell to the Earth once again. Altair paused to recollect, counting on his right hand's fingers. Had it really only been three sunsets since the girl's arrival? It seemed like she had been here for a lifetime. Or at least a lifetime's worth of emotion had sprung up from her bothersome presence. How much longer would it be until she would finally find her way home?

"You gonna stand out here all night, Assassin?"

Altair whirled around to see Zafar staring at him from behind the corroded doorway. "Is she done yet?"

"Well," Zafar paused to clear dust from his throat. "She's not very experienced with attire like ours, apparently. Did you know she's from England?"

"Is she done, taheeb?"

Zafar stared at Altair blankly, "No, she's not, and I need a break from helping her find which way is up. It's your turn, Assassin. What do they wear in England? Sacks?"

Altair snuck one last glance at the velvety clouds before following the doctor back into the stuffy room. What he saw fumbling around before him was a blatant disgrace to his culture. Sarah was skipping sideways in a desperate attempt to keep her balance as she pulled a thick robe over her head. One arm poked peculiarly out from beneath the fabric as she hobbled blindly around.

Altair squinted suspiciously. Her arm was bent all the way back, twisting farther than the angle of her elbow. He couldn't understand it. Such a deformity was among the most sacred of the Assassins. It was the mark of those born with the very soul of the protectors. When such a being performed the leap of faith, his arms would dance backwards into the shape of a human Assassin seal. It was said that such men would lead the Brotherhood to its greatest peace.

Why then did this girl bear the mark of the great? From what he had seen, she was far from Assassin material. So what did it mean? Altair was not one to be superstitious, but he did believe in the Assassin's Gift. He simply could not comprehend that some strange girl from a whole other reality could possess it.

"I've done all I can," Zafar sighed hopelessly.

Altair could not peel his gaze away from the flailing girl. "Shabah…" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"A ghost. Nothing but a ghost..."

Zafar studied Altair's expression as it twisted in sync with Sarah's graceless movements. "Altair?"

Altair sighed, deciding to forget that he had ever seen such a display. For the sake of his own wellbeing, he would continue to believe that Sarah had completely normal arms. Or at least, he would try to do so.

"Do you have any dirt in these jars, taheeb?" he asked, forcing himself to return to the task at hand.

"Dirt? Oh, yes! For her face."

"So you have some? I'd rather not be seen collecting it from the streets."

Zafar smiled wryly, "Well I don't have any dirt, but I do have something else that will do just as fine a job."

"No strange herbs, old man."

Zafar laughed, "Of course not, Assassin."

Altair pushed himself towards Sarah as Zafar dug through his shelves like a scavenger looking for treasure. However, the Assassin soon discovered that he could not get too close without being thwacked by a roaming arm. Sarah's head was stuck in the neck of the robe, her vision stunted severely.

"Hey!" Altair warned, taking hold of her wrists to still her.

Sarah ceased her attempts at dressing. "Is that you, Altair?"

"Yes, it's me. You need to stop moving or you're going to tear the robe."

"It'd be better off!" she spat.

"Listen. We're running out of time. The guards don't let civilians leave the city too long after sunset."

"They don't?" Sarah echoed curiously. She cocked her head in the direction of Altair's voice. "Why not?"

"Do they need a reason?" Zafar suddenly cut in. "They're guards."

Altair's lips twitched into a slight grin. "Exactly."

"Well if it's so urgent then why isn't anyone helping me with this thing?" Sarah challenged.

"Quiet, Shabah. I'm trying."

Altair straightened the tangled fabric and pulled it over Sarah's head with a light tug. The sleeves extended far past the ends of her arms and the bottom dragged on the ground, but it would have to do.

"There," he grunted, brushing off his hands.

Sarah scrutinized her new garb. "What's the difference between this robe and my last one?"

"What?" Altair gasped. How could she not see the variety?

"This one looks the same as my other robe," she persisted.

Altair pressed his fingers to his brow and sighed. "This robe is one that a noblewoman would wear. Your last one was a peasant's gown."

"Hmm…How can you tell?"

"Just look at the colors, habiti," Zafar chimed.

"Forget it." Altair waved the topic away with his hand, reaching for Sarah's veil with the other. "You need to wear this as well."

Her expression wrinkled. "Oh, yeah. That looks even more complicated than the robe…"

"It's simple," Altair assured her, albeit half-heartedly.

"Sure it is. Nothing in this place is simple."

"Quite pessimistic today, aren't we?" Zafar chided, still rummaging through his bottles.

Altair shot a nervous glance out the room's only window. "Move you hair, Shabah."

Sarah was about to protest, but upon recognizing the anxiety in the Assassin's eyes, she complied. She watched in interest as Altair waved the pallor veil around her head and tied it across her face. By the time he was finished, her head was completely concealed, save a small crevice for her estranged blue eyes.

"Aha!" Zafar celebrated from across the room. "There you are!"

The grinning doctor danced over to Sarah with a thick clay decanter in his hands. He waved Altair out of the way and handed him the lid of his odd container.

"Be quick about it, taheeb," Altair warned.

Zafar ignored him and stuffed his fingers into the jar, pulling out a peculiar brown block that almost crumbled at his touch.

"What is that?" Sarah gasped, her voice muffled by cloth.

"It is an ancient material once used in cave drawings, habiti. It also works as a sterilizing agent. An old witchdoctor gave me some just before she died. But that was back when I was in-"

"Zafar!" Altair broke in.

Zafar frowned and lay the old material back into its container. Without warning, he proceeded to apply his now-stained fingertips to Sarah's exposed flesh. She jolted backwards and glared at him.

"Is it gonna do anything funny?"

"Relax, helwa. It is only going to color your beautiful skin."

Her gaze fell to the floor in thought. "Fine. Just don't get it in my eyes."

"Then close them," Altair offered, annoyed.

Altair gazed around the strangled room as Zafar darkened Sarah's ivory face. He was not accustomed to dawdling about when he was supposed to be somewhere at some time. It made him rigid to stand around and wait for Sarah and Zafar to get their acts together while the sun set further behind the mountains. Couldn't they see what was at stake? Time was absolutely of the essence.

"There," Zafar suddenly announced, pulling away from Sarah's space. "As long as you keep you head low, no one should notice your English eyes."

"And if they do?" Sarah mumbled quietly.

"Well…"

Before Zafar could breathe out another word, there was a rough bang at the door. All three of the room's inhabitants jumped at the noise, some more than others. Needless to say, Sarah was sitting helplessly on the floor with her hand propped upon her heart. Altair sighed at her pathetically and made his way towards the door.

"Who's there?" he called, fingers twisting around the hilt of his sword.

"It's me, Brother!" a brittle throat called. The voice was full of passion, but it was broken, like it had been stepped over one too many times.

Altair gasped openly. "Faruq?"

"Please, Altair. Open the door!"

"F-Faruq?" Sarah whispered under her breath.

Altair yanked the lever away from the door and stepped aside for it to sway open. Standing in its center was a very disheveled, very ashen man. Like Altair, he did not sport the familiar robes of his Brothers. Instead, he wore a frosted ivy robe with little boxy stitches all along its seams. His curiously dark curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat, and in his hand he clutched a very familiar piece of parchment.

"I'm coming with you," he breathed passionately.

"How did you find us, Faruq?" Altair questioned, eyeballing his Brother's robe suspiciously.

"Beggars. You're lucky they're our allies, Brother, as you are not very stealthy when you are injured." Faruq's voice quivered involuntarily. It was obvious that he was fighting hard to keep his composure. "The Rafiq gave me your letter and told me what you were planning…"

"Faruq, you would only slow us down," Altair pressed rather emotionlessly. "Go back to the bureau before you are seen by more than just beggars."

"Why, Brother? I am already in disguise. I can help you!"

"Faruq-"

"Please, Brother. Just…Just give me a chance." he glanced at his crinkled parchment and swallowed hard. "I want to know…I want to know why Laleh gave her life to protect you and that girl. I want to help you…"

Once again, Altair found himself caught in the horrid position of making an emotional versus rational decision. He glanced back at Sarah, who was staring wide-eyed at Faruq. He had to protect her. He couldn't do anything to compromise her escape from Damascus. And yet, his heart told him otherwise. How could there be a balance in a situation like this?

"Altair," Sarah whispered almost inaudibly.

Altair hesitated, thinking at first that he had imagined her familiar hollow tone. "What, Shabah?"

"Let him come with us."

"What?"

"Like he said, he's already in disguise, and he wouldn't slow us down nearly as much as I do. Besides, he's been through enough already. I think he deserves the closure of accompanying us."

Altair stared at the frowning girl in disbelief. For the first time, her voice was firm. It had a determined truth about it that made her almost glow in the darkened space. She was hardened. This world had calloused her outer shell, masking any fear she may have felt.

And she was right.

Altair sighed. "Very well, Faruq. But we have to leave immediately." He turned back to Sarah and waved her over.

"Goodbye, Zafar!" she called as she lifted herself from the floor, sending a very emotional stare in his direction. "I will never forget you."

Zafar bowed courteously. "Farewell, habiti. And don't worry, I'm sure we will meet again."

Altair pushed Sarah and Faruq out into the alley and closed the door behind himself as he splashed into the muddy puddles with them. Their journey was only just beginning. He peeked at the last slit of sunlight that cradled the city in its dying golden hue.

"Let's move," he commanded, leading the party to the North, towards the city gates. "We don't have much time."