Aïcha of the Sands

The Tuareg camp lay hidden in a fold of the dunes, five black tents pitched around a well, with a dozen camels hobbled in the shade of a thorn tree.

A woman came out of the largest tent as they approached. She was tall, grave, in a robe of indigo blue, with a veil of the same colour wound round her head so that only her eyes showed. They were very dark, very sharp, like an eagle's. Gold bangles chimed at her wrists.

"So," said Aïcha, in a deep dry voice. "You return."

Moussa bowed.

"And you bring a girl."

He made a small gesture. She glanced at Sira. "She is the griot's daughter?"

He nodded.

"She remembers?"

He nodded again.