MartaVasques

The Andalusian winters were as unpredictably cold as the summers were expectedly hot. Only too often would shepherds and travellers find themselves in the middle of a blizzard that had suddenly descended from the nearby mountains, leaving them helplessly lost in the white mist, so close to the city that they could see its flickering lights and so far away they could freeze trying to reach it. The rulers of Cordoba had thus generously built a number of small sheds spread through the woods and the foot of the mountain to prevent that from happening. Each shelter had simple commodities, such as a table and stools, and a cot with some blankets.

Altaïr's angry voice echoed down the hall as he decisively declared: "I will not wear this and that is final!" Averroes and Maria smiled when he walked into the scholar's study, followed by two male servants who were hopelessly trying to finish dressing him. His attire could not be more different from his usual rough Assassin garb: a golden kaftan over a pearly white tunic, richly embroidered pointy babouches and a silk turban whose pleats one of the servants kept trying to adjust, only to be pushed back by the Assassin at every attempt. Trying not to laugh at his friend's desperate struggle against the heavy, wide sleeves and the sli

When Averroes opened the little ivory chest he kept on his desk Altaïr's eyes gleamed at the sight of its contents. Wittingly or not, the scholar had followed the old Assassin tradition of hiding in plain sight, leaving such a coveted object as the Apple in his study, inside a box that was dusted, polished and moved around by unknowing servants almost every day. A soft glow began to exude from the sphere when the Assassin took it in his hands, almost like a tamed beast purring of contentment for being reunited with its master. Altaïr didn't look less satisfied for having it back. Maria watched, her lips pressed tight in disapprova