Short Story (c) by Fern for ever
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The silvery orb of the full moon shone bright on the wine dark waves of the Nile. The only sound was that of the black waters lapping gently against the riverbank, like a soothing lullaby. The pharoah's palace cast it's massive shadow across the quiet houses of the villagers.

Ankallara paused as she looked out her window on the sleeping city from her chamber in the palace. The night air was cool, and she welcomed it as it rushed in when she gently opened the window. Her linen sack slung safely across her back, she jumped down from the sill to the roof tiles, as lightly as a cat. Moving carefully so as to not to make a noise, it would alert the night watchmen.

As she landed safely in the palace gardens she looked around. Nothing moved except a few huge white moths that fluttered around the jasmine and rosemary bushes. Her sandals made a faint scuffling sound as she walked briskly across the cobblestones into the courtyard. Ankallara glanced at her reflection that shimmered in a large fountains still waters. A dark skinned lass of hardly fourteen summers glanced back. She had raven dark hair swept up into a gracefull bun, high cheekbones and lips the color of tinted rose petals. Her amber eyes were solemn. She continued on.

Only when she had slipped out of the palace compound, past the watchfull senetries, did Ankallara breathe a deep sigh of relief. With practiced ease she slid into the shadows and made her way to the shore of the sacred life-giving river her people knew as the Nile. She prayed to Isis that she would not be seen, she had something important to do.

The young princess knelt down beneath a pair of slender palm trees by the banks, for princess she was, and eldest daughter of a powerfull pharoah. She opened the sack she had carried, and drew forth from it a small object. It fit in her palm.

It was a box, about three inches on all sides. It was made of gold, and had a tight fitting lid. On the sides, delicatly carved, were pictures of the Gods and of her people, the people of the Black Lands: Egypt. Ankallara wondered at how perfectly they were made, at such a small scale. Paints of the finest kind colored them, and some parts were inlayed with precious stones like emeralds, ivory, and black obsidian. On the lid there was a river, and a boat on it. The boat bore the god Osiris. Ankallara loved to look at the picture, it seemed so life-like in it's delicacy.

Sighing, that something so beautiful could be so decieving, she put it down and set about her task. She dug a hole in the river bank with her strong browned hands, and carefully set the box inside it. She covered the hole with the rich river soil. It was done then.

Perhaps years later someone would find the box, and open it to see what it held. Ankallara hoped not. Whatever it was it was best left shrouded in it's dangerous mystery. So, like Pandora's Box, the Nile reclaimed it's golden treasure. The waves lapped up against the shore, over the earth where the box lay. They washed away the footprints in the sand.