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I recognised the foreign name as mine, although I did not understand why, for it did not belong to me. I responded, kicking my heels into the belly of my winged horse. Grenus exploded into flight, I was with him in an instant.

Danik – what is this, where am I?’

*

I stirred, as if from reverie, my emerald dress wrinkled around my humid body, as the giant pyramid of Giza materialised in front of me. A dream, I rationalised to myself but the niggle of doubt consumed me. Was this not a trail of intrigue beckoning me? Had I not, dissatisfied and disillusioned, reached out for answers to the age old question of who am I? And as I sat on the balcony of ‘The Mena House’, listening to the shouting, honking, cursing sounds of Egypt, I knew Cairo was the link. But where to start?

Madaria’ – that is what he called me. I flipped open my lap top and googled ‘Madaria’. A link popped up that caught my attention – ‘Madaria – said to be the last surviving member of the Moderatican Royal family, brutally slain 2 million years ago.’

A tremor rippled through my body as I attempted to discard the images rising in my consciousness. But as fast as I shut one door of my mind another one opened to a new, disturbing image. I forced myself out of the chair, making my way to the bathroom, not thinking, just focussing on the intricate blue mosaic patterned across the wall. I stood under the luke warm water of the shower and tried to think of an excursion I could join the next day but it was no use. I cried out in protest, trying to concentrate on the shards of water prickling my skin but the thoughts were too powerful, invading my consciousness, forcing me to look.

Later I lay on my bed and fell into a troubled sleep. He came to me in my dreams, calling me, nudging my awareness. A part of me fought the truth as I clung to anonymity and ignorance but another part was desperately reaching out to know myself, to discover the identity I had always known was buried within me. I allowed him in. He tugged me and I was there, again, on Moderatica, that place of wonder, seated by a sparkling stream of lavender flowing through a wrinkled valley. He sat with me this time and he spoke:

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