She reached out and touched the sword at my waste. It crumbled away, turning into sand, and then is blown across the desert with the wind. The wall of sand has now turned into numerous Sand Women mourning the death of Lyfae.
“You killed my cousin, to get a staff who’s power you do not understand?” she said slowly.
Huffily, I replied, “I know perfectly well what it can do.”
She shook her head slowly, “No. It does make you more powerful, but not so powerful as you think. It does more for the Sand Women then for Wizards.”
“The Sand Women stole it from Tyme 300 years ago because it was the one thing that could defeat them in the great battle between our peoples. The possessor of the staff wins.”
“No. We stole it because it can do for us what we alone can’t. Anything. If we can’t do something, the staff will allow us to do it.”
“Yet I am still more powerful with it, so you fear it. You fear me with it.”
She laughed and twiddled with a red streak in her hair, “No. I want it.”
And she attacked.