For too long the only life at the temple had been the vultures screeching overhead. But no longer.<br/><br/>Riding a lanky dun horse, Diran Felero squinted at the scorching horizon, trying make out a structure behind the shimmering curtain of heat.  "There it is," he said to his companion. From here the temple looked like a pathetic sliver of stone amongst the curving sands of the landscape, but Diran's rapid heartbeat was making his fingers tremble as they shaded his eyes.  Had they really found it? Was this really the door to his dead god's heart? And if so, why was he the only one searching for it?  It must matter to someone, surely.<br/><br/>Seconds left like minutes, minutes felt like hours as they rode.  When finally they reached the temple, Diran realized it was larger then he thought and had a ruined town behind it. Still, the dull thrumming of hooves and breathing of their mounts seemed loud in such silence.  He would've never thought this place held a god, if not for the feeling of eyes on him. And not human eyes, either.<br/><br/>Swallowing his nerves, Diran swung off his sweaty mount and lead it into the structure's modest shade.  As he poured water for both their horses in a dried fountain, he looked up and studied the weathered patterns etched into the stone.  This had been a great temple once. A hot breeze rustled the dead grass that clung to the structure, revealing part of a face that had once been etched in metal, possibly gold, now chipped away by grave robbers and almost unrecognizable.  It strengthened his resolve to see this through.<br/><br/><em> 'I've arrived, my lord. I will set you free,'</em>he thought.  But to his companion he showed little of his devotion to this quest.  Diran knew she wasn't a believer and had told her only that a treasure and<em>possibly</em>a god lay inside. She would probably never believe in his dreams, or his gut feelings if he told her. The only reason he hired her was because there was safety in numbers out here.<br/><br/>No, that wasn't entirely true... he brought her just in case his god required a sacrifice.<br/><br/>Diran looked up at her, hoping it wouldn't come to that.  "You ride well.  I didn't expect that from a woman," he teased with a playful grin.  She was welcome to take it the wrong way.<br/><br/>As his horse drank, Diran stripped out of his head scarf and loosened the top buttons of his tunic to cool himself. He was a young-looking man, about 28 - 30 years old. His brown hair was cut short above his bright green eyes, and his skin was a light bronze from a life lived mostly in the desert. Between his shoulder blades, the top edge of a tattoo peaked above his tunic-- a symbol of the god that lay sleeping just inside.