Her friends were the distant sand dunes, who stretched all the way between her and the horizon. She greeted them in the morning and wished them pleasant dreams at night, and although they remained as silent as stone, in time she came to know them like a family. Some were young and small, just the slightest rise in the desert. Others were filled with a matronly bounty, large and curving like hips and bellies. They were true mountains of sand, the elders of the desert, and the smaller dunes clustered about them like children at their mother's skirt. Even Nahla felt adopted into their care.

Yet the dunes were not her only companions. Although they rarely visited, Nahla also counted the clouds amongst her friends. They were grand and stately and slow, and she was certain something very important waited for them on the other side of the horizon. To see them march overhead often filled her with a longing to travel, and she would dream of riding on their backs and watching the world drift by below. On days like this, as she watched them fade into the distance, she sang them songs that she thought they might enjoy.

She also sometimes sang for no one in particular, and she was singing the song that rippling water sings to itself when she saw a man cross the desert for the first time. He wore a long black robe and at first appeared to be a living shadow, like a shade of night lost in the harsh rays of daylight. But as she watched him approach, she realized that he was far more than a shadow. He was as real as the sand dunes and the clouds, as real as Nahla herself. He was a creature with arms and legs and an intensity she had only seen in the sand cats and the fennec foxes.

Behind him he led a line of three camels, each strapped precariously with colorful luggage, and as he led them, lifting his sandaled feet high with each step, he whistled a long, low melody that reminded Nahla of winds warmed by the desert sun. Oh, how it made her sing louder to see him come so near! His robe bellowed about his ankles, arms, and chest, revealing a figure so much like her own. And when she saw the lines on his face, weathered by the sun and the sands, it was like looking at her reflection in the rippling waters. She sang loudly at the sight of him. It was a song of welcoming and tranquility, the song that a djinn knows best. Yet as her voice rose, she hesitated to overpower his own, and he never did look her way. And soon he was walking past, never stopping to hear her. Never noticing her or her tiny oasis.

It made her sad to see him go, but she was soon singing about him to the clouds, instead. It was a song without words, like raindrops pelting the sand after a long, summery day, and as the clouds drifted by, they nodded to her music with their great woolly heads. It pleased her to sing such a beautiful song, but everything her voice touched was tinged with sadness. And when the clouds disappeared far away, she felt like crying until the setting sun cast the desert in a deep red.

All that was left was her memory of him, which flickered on the horizon with all the seductive uncertainty of a mirage. If only he would return! The next time she would sing like thunder from the heavens. Her voice would reverberate across the sands, and he would be drawn to its sound like a thirsty man to the roar of a waterfall. He would trek across the sand dunes, no distance too far, and kneel exalted at her side. And she would offer him the water of her home, and while he drank, she would sing for him and he would tell her of all the sorrows and joys of mortal experience.

This vision made Nahla’s heart race, and each morning she awoke excited, certain this would be the day the traveler returned to her desert. She even told the sand dunes of her dream. She spoke in exquisite detail, and while the words passed her lips, they painted her fantasies in a brighter, more vivid hue. It gave form and density to the mirage, made her imaginings seem as real as stone and water. Yet the sand dunes remained silent. It was a silence heavy with doubt and ancient wisdom. It was a silence that seemed to say: We have stood in the desert for countless centuries. We have seen the birth of mountains and the death of stars. But in all this time, we have never seen a mortal man befriend a djinn.

Yet Nahla refused to be disheartened. She saw clearly the future that awaited her, and it was a song that weaved and wove, merging and mingling with the will of another. She spent long afternoons floating on her oasis, staring into the great blue expanse of desert sky. On that pale azure ceiling, she witnessed her fantasies played again and again. When sand fell into her home, she dreamily rolled it out. She was only half-aware of the world around her. The other half was always with him. They shared songs like the changing winds, and all the while she observed the shifting moods on his face like storms and sunbeams and starlight and night.

Nahla waited for many days and weeks and months, but this never came to pass. She never again saw him crossing the sands like a living shadow. She never heard his somber whistle floating through the desert air. And Nahla told the sand dunes all of this, and the great mothers of the desert listened to her with silent understanding. No doubt, in the many centuries of their existence, they had felt countless travelers pass over their sands. And every time, they had to let go. And when the full tragedy of this struck Nahla's heart, she cried for the sand dunes and their centuries of loss until her oasis overflowed and seeped into the desert.

That night, Nahla floated atop her waters and watched the stars glowing in pale blues and reds. She had so much thinking to do. There was a change that needed to happen. For although she was once content with her life in the desert, it was no longer enough. She needed to find voices that would match her own in song and eyes that would rove her face as she roved theirs. There was life out there which she longed for. Yet for now she was alone. She hadn’t known how alone she was until she heard the traveler's song and saw her own face reflected in his. In that moment, she had felt for the first time the promise of companionship. It was like a great wind blowing the horizon away, expanding her vision until she glimpsed a distant paradise. Yet now, as she drifted alone on the surface of her oasis, she was forgetting what that paradise looked like. It was as though the world were shrinking back to its former size, and she was becoming the simple djinn she had been before. And this terrified her.

She needed to escape and follow in the trail of that traveler. But she had never left her oasis before. Trying once, she had only taken three cautious steps before the soles of her feet blistered on the sun-baked sands. Even after she sprinted back into her waters, it took days for the wounds to heal. Considering that, there was no way she could walk all the way to the horizon and beyond. Even if she traveled at night, she would have to struggle to make it far before the sun rose and reduced her to a wisp of steam. Escape by foot was out of the question.

She sighed and stared up at the stars. There had to be another way. Maybe she could call upon the clouds to carry her to the traveler. She would sing a song of heartfelt need, and they would swoop down from the heavens and whisk her to his side. It was a delightful thought, especially since she had long dreamt of riding atop the clouds, but in her heart, she knew they would never come. Thinking this, Nahla chewed on her lip.

If not the clouds, then maybe she could ride something else. She had seen many small creatures scurry across the sands. There were beetles, scorpions, caterpillars, and ants. Maybe she could befriend these beasts and ride them. It was a funny image: her, with her legs astraddle the neck of an ant. But if it worked, she would have a painless journey to the lands beyond the horizon. The only problem was that she didn’t know the language of the animals. In fact, her only encounter with a scorpion had been violent, and the creature nearly devoured her before she dived to the bottom of her oasis for protection. Realistically, they wouldn't help, either.

All these dead ends reminded Nahla of how hopelessly trapped she was in the desert. She sighed, feeling the water rock her back and forth . . . but in an odd way, she was grateful. The oasis was truly her home, and for all her life, the sand dunes and clouds had been her friends. She wanted to stay with them. She realized that with a sudden burst of fondness and memory. It’s just that she also wanted something more, someone to talk to. And unless she somehow left the desert and found a companion, she might spend an eternity listening to the vacant howl of the wind. Thinking this, her heart dropped and she fell into an uneasy slumber.

*  *  *

For a long time after that, the desert was empty. Even the clouds had floated away, leaving the skies barren and blue. And Nahla, with no company but the sands, drifted from day to day. She would spend long hours sitting in the shallows, drawing fleeting images across the surface of her oasis: desert birds in an empty sky, their plumage bellowing in the wind like rippling water; the sand dunes standing stoic and still, a sort of family portrait where nobody smiles; and the clouds, now migrating to faraway lands, across vast tracts of curlicues and elaborate braids. She had never seen the world beyond the horizon, of course, and so these images seemingly came from nowhere, trickling up from the depths of her soul like water from a stone.

Some times, though, when she wasn't in the mood to draw, she would simply stare at her reflection, watching as it shimmered and seethed. It seemed to be heavy these days, weighed down by a slow gravity. Maybe she was thinking too much. In the midst of everything, or the lack there of, Nahla was beginning to doubt that the traveler existed. Maybe he truly was a mirage, or even a vivid dream somehow transposed upon her waking life. Whatever the case, there was no sign he actually existed. The only proof she had was her memory of him, and even that weakened every day. Did his face truly look like hers, or was it more like a cloud, soft and ephemeral? And perhaps the darkness of his robe was really just the darkness she saw when she closed her eyes.

Yet when she wondered about these things too much, her thoughts would easily turn to the sand dunes. Nahla could feel the great mothers of the desert gazing over her shoulder, wrapping her in warmth and silence. And when this happened, she would try to forget about her losses, if only for a while, and think of solumn, beautiful things instead. She would dip her hands into the water and dribble it across her hair so that it glittered in the sunlight. She would hang droplets from her ears like jewels. She would adorn herself with a splendid radiance, with the grace of her own waters. And for this, the desert seemed proud.

*  *  *

One morning, Nahla was startled awake by a deep rumbling. It shook her whole oasis, until her waters trembled and grains of sand poured in from overhead. She watched in awe as a yellow tide filled her home, and terrified that the world might be ending, she swam to the surface to see what was happening. She expected there to be a storm, its thick black clouds rolling overhead and cannonball raindrops bombarding the desert. Yet instead, her eyes adjusted to a bright, clear day. And standing out beneath the sunlight, like a host of shadows marching in the night, was a line of travelers so long she couldn't see the end of it!

They towered over her, colossal and close. She could see the wrinkles on their knuckles and the splayed threads of their indigo robes. Their faces were wrapped in loose veils, exposing only the thin slit of their eyes. And as they passed near her, the air was filled with the rich, musty scent of saffron. It even overpowered the stench of the camels, which many of the men led with long, braided ropes. She marveled at the beasts' offbeat sway, which was both sure-footed and unsteady at the same time. Yet as spectacular as these beasts were, their footfalls were sending shock waves through the sand and transforming her calm waters into a choppy, stormy sea. It was difficult just to stay afloat as the water surged about her and batted her from side to side. Yet she couldn't let this opportunity pass, either. For months she had dreamt of singing to a traveler. Now there were more travelers than she could count on all her fingers and toes. There were more travelers then there were hairs on her head! So she steadied herself atop the water, bracing herself for something stupid and heroic. She called out to them, singing a song of rescue and hope.

At first, her voice was drowned by the clamor of their travel, and she could barely hear herself above the din of rumbling water and crashing waves. This was her chance, though, and she would not relent. She sang even louder, like a brook thrashing over rocks. And as she did this, her eyes settled on a single figure, a traveler who stood apart from the rest. He wore robes as pure and white as the clouds, and he rode imperiously atop a gray mare rather than a camel. She turned herself entirely in his direction, steading her arms atop the waves and willing the waters to calm. Soon, everything was growing still. Even the hump-backed beasts began to slow. And as this happened, she sang like she had never sung before! She sang with all the force in her body and soul, until her throat ached and her eyes teared from the intensity of it all. And yet her voice continued to rise, higher and higher until it was the roar of waves crashing against beachheads and the tumult of water rushing over rapids and the force of hope flying free of her lungs and filling the desert like a glorious chorus of waterfalls.

And at that moment, the traveler stopped. He was so close to her that she could hear his breathing like a dark, heavy wind. She could see the blackened skin of the mare beneath its pale, gray bristles. And with all the force in her lungs, she held the high note. Sand whirled about her now, and the whole desert danced and swayed to her music. It was a spectacular scene, one that she knew he would never forget. Yet as he paused there, he looked uncertain. And slowly, Nahla felt her voice slip. She wanted desperately for him to just look down, to recognize her effort and her existence. But instead he reached for his flask and began to drink, never even glancing her way. In the next moment, his mare resumed walking. All of them were just walking, their eyes as silent and solemn as the sand dunes themselves, until finally her voice cracked and faltered, spiraling downward like a wounded, screeching hawk. It was too much. Even though she could see the buckles on their sandals and the beads of sweat dripping from their brows, they were still too far away to hear her. And soon they were passing her. Soon they were fading into the distance, becoming shadows, and then a single lump of darkness. Before the sun had even broken free of the horizon, they disappeared entirely. All that lingered was the scent of saffron, which hung heavily in the warm desert air. It was a cruel reminder that would not go away. She had lost them, and with a great sigh, she sank beneath the waters and sat glumly on the sands.

*  *  *

In the days that followed, Nahla sang rambling, nonsensical songs for the sand dunes. They were sometimes bawdy, sometimes quiet, but she always hissed the important parts, like an oracle foretelling another's death in harsh whispers. It was a captivating show, she could tell, and when she was finished, she could hear the wind play across the dunes, tussling the sand until it chittered like applause. She bowed for them then, giddy and angry. And overhead, the sky was expansive and blue.

Meanwhile, her oasis was filling with sand, though she didn't really mind. It was hard to see the point, after all. She would just roll out more grains the next day, and the day after that. And the clouds would continue to float away and the travelers would never stop to hear her song. She would rather hit the high notes now and make the desert tremble and cheer. And when that wasn't enough, she slapped the waters with her hand, until the raucousing waves were like a furious ocean. To the travelers, she was invisible. Her song, which seemed so powerful to her, was just a gnat's humming in their ear. A tiny djinn like Nahla could look forward to an eternity of solitude and little else.

Throughout all of this, the sands tried to comfort her. They always did. And despite her screaming and threatening whispers, she eventually fell into their warm silence like a child into her parents' embrace. It was enough to help her forget, if only for a while, the companionship the desert denied her. All it left of the travelers was a trail of furrowed sand, and even that the wind would soon sweep away.

*  *  *

One day, Nahla finally decided to clear the grains from her oasis. At first, seeing them was like a snake biting her heart. It hurt to be reminded of the companionship which had passed right by her. But as she cleared the sand away, she started thinking about her woes with great lucidity. Where as before it had been a muddle, she now saw her troubles laid out before her like a landscape. Really, things weren't so bad. Although it was disappointing to have companions come so close and then just fade away, they were also a sign. They were a sign that others like the whistling traveler existed, and maybe more would walk by in the future. She may yet have an opportunity to attract their attention.

Nahla mused on these things as she rolled the grains away. Although it was by no means easy work, she had at least grown accustomed to it. She knew where to put her hands for the firmest grip; how to lean into the sand to make it move; which paths offered the least resistance. The challenge was predicting how a grain would fall, as each one was carved into a unique shape by the desert winds. Many became as jagged and thorny as a lizard's scales, and although they rolled easily much of the time, they often landed at peculiar angles and got stuck amongst the other grains. She would then need to heave and shove, using all the strength in her back and shoulders just to loosen them from their moorings. Once this was done, however, they moved easily again, and it wasn't long before she'd slide them out of her waters. And then, sometimes amused by the sight of them tumbling down the dune, she would linger at her banks and watch them disappear amongst the yellow. Like this, she could have worked for the rest of the day, for the rest of the night, for years to come. She could have rolled away every last piece of the desert.

And then it occurred to her. There really was no need to stop at the walls of her oasis. She could tear them down and work for all eternity, until the desert was free of sand and all that remained was water. The world itself would become an oasis, a bastion of life and fertility. It would be a paradise for all—though she would leave the sand dunes Yes. She would stop when she reached their feet, and instead of an ocean, she would create a wondrous lake. She saw it all so clearly! Her waters would shine like silver beneath the sun, and even if they couldn't hear her song, travelers would flock to her home from every horizon. They would sit at her banks and enjoy her cool waters. And like this, Nahla would never know loneliness again.

When she finished working, she mused on these things with great pleasure and hope, braiding a slow, intricate design into her hair. Near the horizon, a lone buzzard was swooping in lazy circles atop the wind.

*  *  *

The following morning, Nahla woke with visions of her oasis bringing life to the soil. Shoots of the greenest grass would push through the sand, now glistening moistly in the sunlight. And tiny birds would dip their beaks at her banks and lift their heads and sing the most beautiful songs. She could see it so clearly. In some places she would stand on the shores and waves would gently lap at her ankles. And in other places, it would be so deep that even when the sun rose to its brightest summit, beneath all the water it would still be dark.

She thought about these things for a long time, staying half-asleep with eyes closed. She could feel the warmth of the sun upon her face and see its red rays glowing through her eyelids, but that didn't rouse her. She wasn't yet ready. Once she opened her eyes, she would have to start working. And for the time being, she wanted to linger with these visions of her splendid oasis. The real world was sand stretching as far as the eye could see. It was arms trembling with exhaustion. It was days upon days of endless labor. And no matter how she looked at it, the real world hung from her dreams like a thousand fish hooks leaden with stone. Of her many options, which really just consisted of opening her eyes or keeping them closed, she would rather not see how heavy the world was.

Yet in spite of her plans, the sun would not relent. It pried at her eyelids, burning away the dark backdrop of her fantasies until all that remained was the thin, transparent red of her own skin. And with a great groan, she creaked her eyes open and beheld the sun, and then an oasis as small as a thimble. Her home. Her pride. She bit her lip at the sight of it.

When she finally did pry a grain loose from the wall, dozens of others shuddered free of their moorings and tumbled down about her. She watched in disbelief as they settled at the bottom, a challenge and a taunt. It was almost too much, but committed now to fulfilling her visions, Nahla dove beside the newly fallen grains and began to push. And push. And grain after grain popped out of her waters, rolling down the side of the dune. By the time she had removed nearly a dozen of them, her arms were sore and her legs were as stiff as sandbags. The base of her oasis was still littered with grains, but she resolved to remove them the next day.

That evening, as the sun sank beneath the the dunes, Nahla was excited to see the clouds returning from over the horizon. They were alight with the sun's setting fire, and yet their bellies were black and fecund, dark and pregnant with riches from faraway. Nahla wasn't surprised when she heard a thunderclap and felt the faint patter of rain upon the sands. As the sun disappeared, the desert faded from burnished red to slate blue. It was a lunar landscape, illuminated by the moon. And Nahla lifted her arms high in welcoming to the falling water.

The shower had a music of its own, a sort of beautiful nonsense which nevertheless inspired vibrant images in the pale moonlight. There was a stream winding beneath a lush canopy, green light dappling the surface. There was a stone fountain spraying water into the sky, its droplets sprinkling across the faces of people the color of sand. And there was water turned to crystal, as pure and white as a newborn's teeth. It drifted slowly from the heavens, each one as unique as a grain of sand, until finally they settled on the ground in clumps as large and irregular as the sand dunes themselves.

And with that, the showers stopped abruptly and the desert was as still as the night.

*  *  *

In the days that followed, Nahla slowly removed the remaining grains from the bottom of her oasis. Even after she was done, though, it was hard to see a difference. Her home was still a mere thimbleful of water. So she pried several more grains free, until there was another avalanche and countless sands settling below her. Was it strange that every day she accomplished less and less, and yet felt like she was working harder? This persisted, until one morning Nahla simply blinked her eyes open once, and then twice, before closing them again. Her excitement had entirely worn away and left a residue of true weariness. Her muscles had grown slow and sticky, and it was hard to see herself working for another full morning. And yet, beneath her were the grains she hadn't moved, and no doubt, even more had rolled in over the night. And in spite of all of this, she knew—she knew—if she opened her eyes, she wouldn't see the difference. Her home would still be a thimble. Crafting a lake out of the desert was something only the mirages could do. It was simply steam rising from a vast, empty wasteland.

Suddenly, Nahla felt like crying again. There was just too much. She couldn't even bear to look at the task beneath her. Her body was too small for this. It quaked at the thought of that leaden sand. And her heart. Yes, her heart was too small for this, too. She had to recognize that her dreams were absurd, a fantasy of sparkling light. Her reality was this thimbleful of water and a prison made of a sand. Only the strong could break free from this jail, and she certainly wasn't that.

She sobbed, then dove beneath the water to hide her shame from the sand dunes and the sun. They must have been so disappointed in her. But what could she do? She had all but given up. And floating beneath her oasis, she could clearly see the thick, dark grains that tormented her. It all seemed so ridiculous. How could she be so small, so helpless to change her world? Why did the desert even create a creature like her? She was such a pathetic thing. It would be better to just stay down there forever, to let the sand roll in from the desert and bury her slowly. A creature like Nahla was better off forgotten.

Yet many hours later, Nahla’s tears, and she returned to the surface and watched the distant sand dunes, who shimmered and danced yet never truly moved. And although the clouds weren't there, the thought of them was hollow, illusary. After all, she had seen a creature that chose its own path and moved because it was fueled by true desire. The sand dunes and the clouds were stately and they inspired awe in her heart, but they were simply too large and too eternal. They were not filled with the dreams of a creature like her. Only something like that black robed traveler could understand. She had understood him and the way he moved so intently across the desert.

Yet he and his kind were so far away now. They would never see her. And even if they were closer, to them she was just another part of the desert—little different from a grain of sand. She would always be alone out here. And thinking this, Nahla rested her head upon folded arms. She closed her eyes to the abundant light, and soon the waves were rocking her into a weary slumber. It was a place of neither wakefulness nor true sleep. Her dreams and reality danced in a disoriented muddle, until her thoughts were washed away and she was floating atop a tranquil, sad emptiness.

In this place, she heard the rumble of movement. It was something distant, which tugged at her awareness and hinted at meaning. And in the darkness she glimpsed a colossal figure, a man in robes so deeply blue they were like the shadows that water cast upon water. He had yanked the veil down from his mouth and now drank thirsty from a bladder. Yet in the next instant, the image of this man was gone, and it was just the darkness of her half-dreaming and the distant satiation of an unknown creature. She knew she should do something, but she felt paralyzed. And soon she was spiraling into a deeper darkness, and the sounds of its thirst grew further and further away. Yet just before everything was as black as the absence of night, she glimpsed his image again. His face was turned towards her, his red whiskers tinged with indigo like the shadows within a fire. And for the briefest moment, their eyes locked and the world faded into night.

*  *  *

The following morning, Nahla awake to the sound of her waters lapping at the banks. The sun glowed a gorgeous red, just peeking over the horizon. Her eyes lingered on a fleet of clouds beside it, slowly expanding and dissolving through the morning sky. And beneath them, all around her, were sand dunes, both familiar and warm. She greeted them, and then she greeted the clouds. Not far away, she could see the trail of footprints where the men has crossed the desert. It was like a choppy sea, frozen and turned to earth. Such a still, beautiful morning. She was grateful for everything within it.

She gave the sand dunes a faint smile, and then she dove to the bottom of her oasis and began rolling out the fresh sand. There were only a few that had rolled in the night before, and for that she was grateful. Still, she took the work slowly, and before the sun had reached its zenith, she was done. Rolling the last grain over the edge, she rested on the bank again and watched the sand dunes shimmering on the horizon. It was then that she saw it for the first time. She had no idea how long it had been there or where it had come from. A smooth black disc, glinting in the sunlight. It was close to her. Closer than the footprints of the men. And looking at it, she was reminded of her vision from the night before. A man with red whiskers dyed blue, the shadows within a fire.

*  *  *

The days that passed after that were long and slow and full of forgetting. She was like a snake molting in the sun, always shedding another part of herself and becoming newer and older. The dull urgency and longing left with her old skin—for the most part at least. And although everything was still imbued with a quiet sadness, it was becoming hard for her to remember a time before her hope and loss.

Every morning, she greeted the sand dunes and waved to the clouds as they passed overhead. Every morning, she cleared her oasis of the debris that had fallen the night before. Every morning, she looked out across the desert and thought wistfully of the lands beyond the horizon, even as she was grateful for her place within the sands. It was her dance, her daily routine. It was her way of giving life order and meaning, and it allowed her to love the desert even as she longed for things outside of it.

In time, the trail of footprints faded. Sand rolled into and across them, the same way it tried to fill her oasis. But without a djinn to roll the sand back out, the footprints slowly disappeared. Fading, until one day they were gone entirely, becoming just another stretch of desert. The only thing that remained from that day was the black disc, which shined always in the sunlight. At night, she was sometimes taken by a mood to wander out of her oasis and atop its smooth surface. If a grain of sand had rolled onto it, she rolled it back off. And then she would lie there beneath the moon, the stone smooth like water but hard on her back. As the rest of the desert cooled off, it remained warm like a living creature. Several times, she nearly fell asleep atop it.

It was a strange thing. It had no personality, like the sand dunes or the clouds. She never humored the thought that it might be alive, no more than she would think of grains of sand that way. But it was nevertheless something. It was a phenomenon, an unknown, a mysterious treasure. It was in the stories of its arrival that it gained a sort of life. Was it the scale of a massive lizard, something that had wandered here and departed before she could glimpse it. Or was it a star that had fallen from the sky, blackened and dead like the corpse of a fire. Or was it the heart of a dune, something it had pulled from its core and thrust above the sands to console her. These ideas came to her from the darkness of her imagination, a void of indigo and fire.

Sometimes she would gaze absently at it throughout the day, and she eventually noticed that when the sun shone on it from the proper angle, it would ripple with iridescent color. Suddenly, waves of green, purple, and red would play across its shining black surface. It made her gasp the first several times she saw it. And even more remarkably, it drew the birds down from the sky. Buzzards, sparrow hawks, and kites would lower themselves in lazy circles over the disc, until they finally landed at its side. They would then walk around it, their heads angled sideways in consideration, never even glancing Nahla's way. When they were satisfied with what they saw, they would launch themselves back into the air, a burst of sand flying everywhere. Although this meant Nahla had to roll out a few extra grains, she was nevertheless awestruck by the sight of these birds.

*  *  *

One morning, Nahla woke with a start, gasping for breath. It was as though something were suffocating her, yet when she looked around, she saw nothing. There was only a hot, heavy wind. It was a feeling she knew all too well. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the horizon, which glowed a splotchy crimson, as though it were staunching a tide of blood. And like a swelling bruise, it darkened, blackened. A swarming shadow emerged in place of the sun. It was something she'd seen before. It was the desert lifting itself into the heavens, the sands rising from the earth to now whirl chaotically through angry gales and vortexes, buzzing and clattering like a billion angry hornets. It was a sandstorm, and in terror, she watched as it swept towards her, devouring her world.

Bowing away from the angry heat, Nahla dove into her waters and pried grain after grain from the wall, until finally she had carved a small hole, a cavity to crawl into. It was the closest thing to protection she could make. And squeezing into it, she curled into a tight ball and held her breath. It wasn't long before the first grain torpedoed into her home with a thunderous splash. In the next moment, there was another, and another. Shock waves roared through the water, knocking her violently against the walls of her hole and then pulling at her feet. Frantically, she grasped for a better hold, slipping her hands between the cracks of the grains. And with all her strength, she held on. If she couldn't hold, then the waters would suck her out into the oasis, leaving her exposed to the falling grains. It had happened before. Shivering, her body recalled every bruise as the desert pounded into her flesh, battering her until she couldn't struggle anymore. This time, she bit her lip and held tight. It wasn't odd when she tasted blood on her tongue.

The sandstorm slowly died down and dissipated, until finally even her waters were calm and she couldn't hear the angry pounding of sand against sand. She had survived. And exhausted, she remained where she was, crying fast and hard and unsure of what the tears were really about. She wasn't even sure if she was grateful to be alive, or if she was simply terrified of the wrath and pain that has passed by. It was hard, but this was her home. This was life in the desert.

*  *  *

When she emerged from the hole, Nahla saw sand piled heavily at the bottom of her oasis. She would have to clear it out eventually. But for now, she simply rose to the banks and rested her head in her hands. Before her was a world utterly and subtly changed. The dunes looked as though they had shifted uncomfortably in their sleep, and the sky, though nominally clear and blue, had a yellow haze about its edges. Yet it wasn't until she looked around her oasis that she realized something was truly lost. The disc had disappeared. It had been buried beneath the sand, away from the sunlight that once made it dance with color. Away from the birds, away from Nahla.

She wanted to sprint across the desert and begin digging for it right away. It was too much to lose. But with the sun bearing down upon her head, she knew she couldn't leave quiet yet. If she walked over those sands, they would singe her feet and reduce her to a pile of blackened ash. This left her with only one choice: to wait until the night when the desert cooled. Yet waiting proved difficult. A tension settled in her heart that she couldn't ignore, even as she floated atop her waters and watched the clouds pass overhead. In all their regal glory, they were indifferent to her today, distracted by their goals over the horizon. She might as well be invisible. So she sang for the sand dunes, more to occupy herself then to call their attention. Even this, though, she wasn't feeling. And it was with great relief that the sun finally set and the sands began to cool. She could hear them creaking as they settled into new positions, resting for the night. It was then that she leapt out of her oasis and scurried across the grains. Although Nahla couldn't tell exactly where the disc had been, she had to start somewhere. And making the best guess she could, she knelt amongst the sands and began to dig.

Compared to the uphill task of her oasis, this was easy work. Within just moments, she had rolled away many of them, making a clear divot in the ground. Yet there was still no sign of the disc, so she moved to a new spot. She did this again and again, until the desert around her oasis was pockmarked with tiny holes. Why hadn't she found it already? Maybe the sand dunes had consumed the disc, after all. Maybe it truly was their heart and they were taking it back now. But somehow Nahla knew this wasn't true. It was crying out for rescue. Or maybe it was her own heart crying out not to lose it.

It was with great relief that she finally uncovered it, though barely. Her hand grazed the side of the disc, which she had nearly dug right by. Even along the side, it was smooth and monolithic, shining black like a twilight sky. It was a darkness that illuminated darkness. And she immediately began shoving the sand off its surface. She swept away the debris of the desert, feeling powerful as the grains tumbled around her, until once again the disc was exposed to the light of the moon. It was many times wider than her oasis, and when she was done, she laid atop it and closed her eyes. She felt as though she were floating in the sky.

*  *  *

Many days later, as Nahla traced the image of the sand dunes upon her oasis, she heard something unusual. It was a music like the whistling of the traveler, but softer and undulating with complexity. Looking all about her, her eyes eventually settled on the horizon, where an oily shadow stood out amongst the red sands. It took a moment for the silhouette to resolve itself into the form of two camels, each with travelers astraddle their backs. Even from this distance, she saw how one traveler moved his arms in easy conversation, while the other kept his hands attentively at the reigns. By the time they reached a nearby ridge, Nahla was frozen with anticipation. They were scanning the desert, looking for something. And miraculously, sudden, one paused—his face pointed straight at her.

And within moments, they started walking her direction, until soon they were cresting the nearest dune. She could clearly see their faces. The one behind, whose hands continued to move with a supple charm, had a shining face as pale as the moon. He was smiling quietly to himself, a man satisfied with a sudden turn of events. And the other—the one in the lead—looked towards her with an unspoken intensity, a lingering sadness in his eyes. Those eyes were all that she could see of his face, otherwise hidden behind a rich indigo veil. It wasn't until he turned to the other traveler to speak that he pulled the veil down past his chin, revealing whiskers as red as flame. The sight of them was like spiraling through darkness, and Nahla felt dizzied, as though she had seen this all before.

He brought his camel within a dozen paces of her oasis before dismounting. The man following him did the same, and they both walked carefully toward the black disc. Her oasis shuttered with every footfall, but she stayed afloat and watched them in awe. When the elegant man finally reached the disk, he knelt beside it and traced an oily finger across its smooth surface. The hair on the back of his hand was as light and yellow as the sand.

Following behind, the other man's eyes roving for something beside the disc. And then, Nahla suddenly knew that he was looking for her. What else could it be? And surely enough, in another moment his eyes had spotted her thimbleful of water and he whispered something heavily under his breath. The elegant man heard this, and following his gaze also saw Nahla and her waters. He crawled towards her then, his movements smooth and swift as a sand cat's, until his great head blotted out the sun. And gazing up at his face, she saw him and he saw her. A wide smile crossed his lips, baring teeth that gleamed white as a fox's eyes.

The two travelers spoke back and forth to each other in a tongue that was nothing like the water or the sand. It was more like the music of the wind, both delicate and forceful. But she had never heard the wind blow like this. Even the whistling of the first traveler had been as familiar as the sound of a gale passing over rough sands. But the speech of these men was somehow warmer and fleshier, like prickly pears cooking in thick water. She watched them in awe, trying to piece together the nature of their tongue. And then the elegant one turned back to her and smiled his fox's smile. The other man reach into his pouch and removed two vials, and with a deftness like the rain, he poured the contents from one into the other, making it trickle with a rhythm that sang to her. It was the music of water! It was a song of welcoming and friendship, and his sad eyes shined as he played it for her. In return, she sang for him, meeting every note in kind, until their voices intertwined and rose into the air like sea spray.

The sandy haired man hung back and watched with amazement. Nahla herself was amazed, but she was also getting carried away by the music. It coursed through the desert, winding amongst the sand dunes like a widening stream until it became a powerful river curving amongst the dunes. It was no longer a song of mere welcoming, but one of invitation, one that would whisk her away like this music itself to a place she did not know but that promised everything. Everything! Unimaginable architectures rising from the waves, booths thronging with scarlets, ebonies, and indigos, human chatter roaring across bustling streets.

Images flowed forth from the music in sharp colors she never knew existed, until finally Nahla could think of no answer but yes. No course but agreement and egressment. She would leave with them. She would sing majestically in the company of others forever.

So he lowered a vial, and she climbed in. That's how Nahla's adventure began.