The sun held relentless overhead, and the caravan kept its pace. Yet there was an unaffected peace to it. The sky offered no spectacle—only blue. No distractions, save the occasional grunt of the animals and the soft creak of leather. This life the caravan kept carried a humbling quiet. Wants were simple, and that was enough.

  She brushed her fingers over the necklace hidden beneath her clothes. The fragments had merged. They pulsed faintly—quiet now.

  “You seem far away again.”

  Elowen widened her eyes.

  Basim gave her a small smile. “You wear that face often.” His gaze flicked to the scars crossing her palms. “You’re safe with us. People who can’t carry their own weight don’t come this far,” Basim said. “The desert doesn’t spare anyone—but it does reward those who endure.”

  Elowen turned her hands over, studying the old wounds etched into her skin. Then she lifted them again to the place where the necklace rested.

  “I don’t believe I fear any man—or woman—anymore,” she said softly.

  A sharp crack sounded nearby.

  They turned to see a broken pot at a boy’s feet, pieces scattered in the sand. He stood frozen beside it, guilt written plainly across his face as tears traced clean lines down his cheeks.

  Elowen crossed the space between them and knelt. She frowned as she examined the pieces. She had mended broken things before.

  She gathered what remained of it, and together they moved into the shade. Elowen warmed a small bit of resin by the fire and pressed it carefully into the crack, patient and precise. It would hold water. Just not fire. Some things, once broken, could still serve—but never in the same way.

  The boy grinned and threw his arms around her.

  Elowen stiffened, then slowly placed her hands on his head. Her eyes stung, but she smiled.

  When the boy ran off, she remained by the fire, watching the flames dance. A soft breeze stirred, carrying the smell of dust and smoke, and she closed her eyes as it brushed her skin.

  A low thud sounded beside her.

  An old man had settled near the fire, a piece of leather resting across his knees. Elowen watched as he worked deliberate markings into its surface, the tool scraping softly.

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  Basim dropped down beside them with exaggerated noise.

  “Truly, Hasek, I don’t understand why you make those waterskins so pretty,” he said. “They’re meant to drink from, not admire.”

  Hasek smiled without looking up. “Tell me, Basim—do flowers stop blooming simply because no one is watching?” He lifted the leather slightly. “I see these waterskins every day. If I can make something worth looking at, then I’ve made a gift for those willing to stop and notice.” His smile widened. “I could make one for you. Who knows—you might even learn to observe. Or better yet, to appreciate beauty.”

  Basim laughed. “Oh, I appreciate beauty well enough. I just don’t like carrying it. Give it a few days of sand and sun and I’m the one patching it.”

  Hasek smiled. “Then you miss the point. Some things are worth mending more than once.”

  Basim snorted. “I just don’t like fussing over things that won’t last.”

  Hasek didn’t look up. “Nothing lasts. That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth making beautiful.”

  Elowen hesitated. “Would you teach me?” she asked. “I’d like to make something useful for the caravan. I feel like I’m not doing enough for all the kindness that’s been shown to me.”

  Basim frowned. “What are you talking about? You do enough. You do what Fadil asked, and you do it well.”

  Elowen sighed.

  “I could teach you,” Hasek said gently. “But only if this is because you want to.” He met her eyes. “Not because you feel the need to prove something to us.”

  She turned her gaze back to the fire.

  After a moment, Hasek glanced at Basim, then back to her. “Is there someone waiting for you back home?”

  Her chest tightened.

  “You don’t need to tell us anything,” Hasek added at once, straightening.

  “There is someone,” she said. She drew in a breath. “And wanting him feels like wanting something I may already have given up.”

  Basim frowned. “Does he know where you are?”

  “He doesn’t,” she said, her voice dimming.

  “Well,” Basim muttered, “I’d never let someone I cared about cross the desert alone.”

  Elowen smiled, faint and resigned.

  Hasek shifted closer and placed a piece of leather in her hands. She traced her fingers over its smooth surface as he showed her how to prepare it. How different contents changed the leather over time—water, oil, wine—each leaving its own mark. Then he pressed a small carving tool into her palm and guided her first careful line.

  “A skin can carry only so much,” Hasek said. “Ask it to hold what it wasn’t made for, and it splits.”

  Elowen’s mouth curved into a quiet smile. The leather felt like a promise.

  —

  As evening settled, the fragments pulsed peacefully against her chest. The breeze played with her hair. Insects sang. Birds called to one another as the last warmth of day painted the dunes in gold.

  This was her favorite hour.

  A reminder that she was no longer merely surviving.

  She was living.

  Here, she was no one. No one knew who she was, or what she could do. No one asked for more than what she had to give in this moment.

  It was enough.

  As the light faded, she thought of him—and the thought ached. What he had done for her family. What he had done to keep her safe. She could not understand it. She did not need to.

  She breathed in the cooling air and thought of her fig tree. Of leather beneath her hands.

  And for the first time in a long while, tomorrow did not feel like an enemy.

  Just… uncertain.