After allowing the camp to settle into the comfort of darkness, the young wife tied her belt around her waist, slipping her jambiya into an empty scabbard. The curved, double-edged dagger was Ruha's prized possession, for Qoha'dar had given it to her on her twelfth birthday. Next, she wrapped herself in a billowing, black robe that would camouflage her in the darkness. It would also keep her warm, for the desert was as cold at night as it was hot during the day.

Ruha started to leave the khreima, then realized she had forgotten Ajaman's meal. She returned and put a skin of camel's milk into a kuerabiche, then filled the rest of the shoulder sack with wild apricots. Carrying supper to her husband would hardly have seemed a valid reason for visiting his post if she forgot the food.

The young wife returned to the door and paused to study the camp. A hundred feet ahead, the full moon glistened off the oasis pond. As a steady breeze rippled the water, the tiny waves sparkled like white diamonds. The tangled branches of wild apricot trees ringed the pool, perfuming the air with the scent of ripe fruit. Above the apricot trees towered thirty majestic palms, their fernlike fronds splayed like open fingers against the starry sky.

Scattered amongst the trees were the silhouettes of nearly one-hundred khreimas. Robe-clad figures moved among the tents like specters. Outside the doors, men sat in small groups, singing and drinking salted coffee, yet simultaneously listening for the distant blare of an alarm horn.

With a bright moon overhead, there were precious few shadows in which to hide. Fortunately, there was wind enough to cast an illusion if need be, so Ruha felt confident of reaching Ajaman undetected. She slipped out of the doorway, then cast a sand-whisper spell that allowed her to move across the desert in complete silence. She circled to the back of her khreima, careful to stay downwind of camp lest a camel or dog catch her scent.