Chapter 31 · Chapter 31

By midmorning, the heat began to peel the moisture from the air, and three horsemen appeared along the crest of the red cliffs, followed by the slower tread of dromedaries bearing the new elders of the southern pastures. They halted at the line of stacked stones that marked the boundary of our settlement—the perimeter Sheikh Aabir had walked with his staff when our tents were first pitched against the limestone valley.

I stepped into the shade of the courtyard wall, wrapping my coarse dark cloak securely around my shoulders. In the open daylight of the valley, a woman’s place was quiet witness, yet my eyes never left Shimon’s back as he descended the gravel path toward the boundary markers.

The men dismounted without drawing steel, their woolen mantles trailing in the rising dust. At their center stood young Malik, son of the late chieftain, his chin raised with the restless pride of an heir eager to redraw the lands his father had shared with outsiders. They waited behind the cairns, their hands resting upon the pommels of their daggers, expecting a foreigner who would plead for leave to remain.

Shimon did not hurry.