"This is for you." Friya handed the tray of food while performing one last check-up. "Take your time and be careful. It's hot."
"Thanks, young lady, but after living sixty years in the Desert, I can handle hot." An old woman said.
"This is for you. Take your time and be careful. It's-"
"Drenya?" A middle-aged woman said, cutting Friya short. "Thank the gods you made it here. I was afraid those bastards had taken you or worse."
"I'm sorry?" Friya swallowed hard upon hearing her birth mother's name, but waited for the woman to rub her eyes and shrug off the drowsiness before asking any questions.
"Oh, gods, you're not Drenya." The woman said after taking a good look at Friya. "Is she somewhere here? She looks like you, just older and less pretty."
"No. I'm pretty sure there's no one matching your description." Friya kept her voice level, but Nalrond noticed from the ripples in the soup that her hands were trembling.
He took the tray from her and handed it to the woman.
