The noon sun beat down upon the fertile crescent. Life teeming in its mundane ways. Farmers tending fields, warriors testing their mettle, scribes making records, temple priests chanthing, and children playing as ever they will, unaware of the greater world. From above the wings of a eagle spread wide, broke the circle of the sun. It was clear -- judgment would be rendered this day. The Great Mother had spoken; all her Daughters bowed down to her will. Down, down, and further down...to the earth, where one woman sat quietly watching soaring wings from the rooftop of her father's home, lost in momentary comtemplation of one facet of nature's glory. A shout from below, "Tanit! Tanit!" Ruefully, she pulled herself back from glory, rose and straightened her robes. She glanced once in mute salute to the eagle, then went downstairs to see why her father, Kuwari, had called her. Tanit approached her father, bowed slightly, and waited quietly. She took note of a nervous flutter of his hands, his dark eyes reflecting a look of surprise, and worried pleasure. Something had certainly ruffled his normally stoic feathers. She laughed inside, thinking of the eagle. "Daughter-mine, this day a scribe from the Temple of Nisaba honored our home," he said. "You have been chosen to serve the Goddess, as priestess to her glory. Is this not a great day for our family? He will return for you upon the sun's rising. Prepare yourself, dear daughter. We will sorrow that you will be away from us, but we dare not disobey nor deny." The word glory echoed and echoed into a falling spiralling despair. Silent cry following. There would be no escape. No wide spreading of wings. Bowing her head in acceptance to the will of her father, that of the Goddess, Tanit turned without a word or a smile and went to her room to prepare what little belongings she knew she would be allowed to take with her. A beam of dusty sunlight danced across her face, revealing the glimmering tracks of tears. Life moved on in the fertile crescent. But Tanit could only feel the despair of one who had lost her freedom. Choice had been burned to ash under the noon sun. For when the Great Mother spoke, all bowed to her will.