Spring came late that year. The ewes were still heavy with milk when the letter arrived, its edges worn from hard travel.
Dearest sister, it read. The fires here are unstoppable. Hatred for our kind has choked the air until we cannot breathe. You said your husband’s people would not receive us, would not share land or riches earned by their ancestors. But the only path left goes West, and so we come to you, hoping you will show mercy to honest souls.
Saba’s heart raced, knowing she must plead again with her husband to let them stay. Their home had room to welcome guests, and she had long hoped for it to be filled with the sweet noise of family: her little nieces and nephews, and the gentle companionship of Omar’s wife, whose face she could barely remember.
