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Anna looked down at Azul’s sleeping face.
“The Vanished Souls no longer,” she whispered. “We are the Found.”
> To name yourself is to rise beyond what the world names you.
“We survived the siege,” Anna said, voice strong though her body still ached from birth. “Now we must become more than fugitives. We must become a people.”
An old Berber woman raised her staff. “What shall we call ourselves, O Queen?”
Under the whispering palms at dawn, Anna sat upon a carved stone seat, Azul sleeping in her arms. Freed elders from Sudan, Morocco, Andalusia, and the Tuareg tribes gathered before her.
Amastan stood to her left, silent and vigilant.
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Inspired by @Diane-de-la-Cheneraye