Chapter 28 · Chapter 28

The latch of the inner courtyard dropped with a dull, resolute clatter, shutting out the mountain glare and the harsh ring of hooves upon flint. Within the perimeter of our high earthen walls, the noon heat hung dry and scented with cedar resin and the earthy tang of sun-cured fleece.

Ibrahim sat upon a woven palm mat near the low storage bins, his dark eyes fixed on the gate where his father had just departed. Though barely tall enough to reach the brass rim of the water cistern, he held his spine straight, mimicking the rigid bearing of the men who rode at the head of the caravan.

"The dust has swallowed the road, my son," I said softly, loosening the drape of my linen mantle so my arms were free to work. "The trail belongs to Abu Ibrahim and the riders now. This court belongs to us, and the wool does not separate itself while hands sit idle."

He blinked, the solemnity breaking into swift obedience as he scrambled to his knees. "Abshiri. The elders in the lower grove spoke of inspecting the bins before the third watch, Ummi.