The wind howled between the stones like a warning.
Dawn had barely broken over the dusty plain.
In the shadow of the adobe house, Nahia clutched her old worn shawl tighter around her.
She glanced at Amaya, still asleep…
Then slipped away on silent feet.
She had no choice.
They needed firewood.
Without it, the harpy who shared her uncle's bed would scream.
She would call Nahia useless.
And maybe—like so many days before—she'd raise her hand.
Barefoot and kicking up dust, Nahia wandered far from the camp.
The desert, under the pale light of dawn, looked like a world abandoned by the gods.
A world of silence, of mirages… and ash.
She was gathering a few dry branches, weathered by the wind, when she heard them.
Voices.
Boys.
Laughter.
Boots scraping against the earth.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
There were five of them.
Their stares glinted with something cruel—boredom mixed with feral hunger.
"Look at that little sack of bones," sneered one, baring yellowed teeth in a cracked grin.
The youngest boy, standing behind the leader, tugged nervously on his sleeve.
"We shouldn't touch her…
She's a witch. She brings bad luck."
Another scoffed, indifferent.
"Witch or not, I haven't had anything in weeks.
I won't pass this up."
They moved forward.
Like a pack of wolves.
Nahia's heart clenched.
She dropped the wood.
Turned.
And ran.
The desert blurred around her.
Her skinny legs struggled to carry her, but fear surged through her veins like fire.
Behind her, their laughter turned to shouts.
Stones sliced into her feet.
Branches clawed at her legs.
But she had no time for pain.
She passed the oasis without slowing.
The sight of the clear water, the trembling reeds—it pierced her like a blade.
A memory of fleeting happiness, long stolen.
Then—up ahead—a lone tent, weathered by time.
Her heart leapt.
Without thinking, she dove inside.
The air was thick with dust, the scent of age and death.
Spiderwebs hung like ghosts from the ceiling.
No one had lived here in years.
She crouched behind a pile of rotting blankets, hands clasped over her mouth to muffle her breath.
Outside, the voices approached—hesitant.
"She went into the tent!" one of them cried.
"Forget it," another growled.
"This place is cursed.
That's where the djinn lives. The one who sings at night and eats men."
A heavy silence.
Then the trembling voice of the youngest:
"But… she'll die in there. Alone…"
"Better her than us," the older one snapped.
"She won't come out alive anyway."
They stepped back.
Then fled—almost running.
Their courage dissolved by the rising sun.
Nahia waited.
Heart pounding.
Eyes fixed on the tent's entrance.
When at last the desert fell silent again, she closed her eyes.
Her throat tight.
They didn't know.
It was Nahia who sometimes sang near the water, under the stars.
Forgotten melodies of her childhood.
They'd mistaken her voice for a demon's call.
And today, that rumor had saved her.
But deep down, Nahia knew—
That salvation was only temporary.
As long as she stayed in that house.
As long as she lived under the cold gaze of her uncle's wife…
She would be prey.
A burden.
A target.
The desert had whispered a truth she could no longer ignore:
If she wanted to survive… she would have to flee.
Or die.
By the time she stepped outside again, the sun was high.
The sand scorched her feet.
She walked back to the house.
Like a condemned soul.
---
The sky felt lower when she pushed the door open.
A scream tore through the air.
Amaya.
Nahia ran inside.
taking blows from Rokaya—
The woman with the iron tongue.
The hands of stone.
Nahia didn't think.
She didn't hesitate.
Rage flooded her limbs.
She lifted the piece of wood she still carried—
And struck.
The blow echoed like thunder through the room.
Rokaya screamed, clutching her injured arm.
"Ahmed! Ahmed! Your nieces are trying to kill me!"
Her uncle rushed in—
Pale.
Distraught.
The woman howled, spewing curses.
"I'm not staying under this roof one more hour!
It's them or me!"
Ahmed looked at Nahia.
Then Amaya.
Then at the woman he loved to the point of blindness.
His eyes filled with tears.
"I'm… I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking.
"No—no, Uncle, no…" Nahia sobbed, falling to her knees.
"Think of Father… think of your brother!"
But Ahmed's eyes were already elsewhere.
He was a broken man.
He gently took them by the shoulders.
Guided them toward the door.
Out of sight of Rokaya, he pressed a few coins into Nahia's palm.
"Go…
Go far…"
His voice strangled by sobs.
The door closed behind them.
And this time, it would not open again.
---
They walked for hours.
Aimless.
Exhausted.
Under the merciless sky.
The village watched them pass in silence.
Like strays covered in mange.
Stones bit their feet.
Their legs trembled.
Amaya cried silently.
Her hand clutched tight around Nahia's.
The whole world had turned its back on them.
Nahia walked on.
Heart hollow.
A hollow shell.
I wanted to leave, she thought bitterly.
I wanted to get out… but not like this.
Not like beggars cast out of our own lives.
And yet…
Why couldn't she hate her uncle?
The man who turned away from so much cruelty?
Why did forgiveness still flicker, faint, in her battered heart?
The sun climbed higher.
Relentless.
As they reached the edge of the village, Nahia stopped.
The tent.
Yes.
Far from here.
Forgotten by all.
Their only possible refuge.
She squeezed Amaya's hand.
"Come," she said.
Her voice hoarse, trembling with strange resolve.
"Where are we going?" asked Amaya, frightened.
Nahia gave a broken smile.
"To a place where no one can hurt us anymore…"
And beneath the burning sky,
two tiny silhouettes moved slowly away,
walking toward their fate.