He shakes his head slowly and allows the river to take him further downstream. At the next bend he brings the raft to the bank, ties it to a large oak, and sets up his meager camp. After setting a pair of cane poles into the muddy bank to bring forth his evening meal, he retreats carefully up the side of the bank and into a cleft in the hillside, being careful to leave no tracks of his passage. He does not do this out of fear, nor is this part of a plan of violence or retribution; he simply feels that something might be seen. Others would have grown impatient or restless waiting for something that might never appear, but it is well within his nature to simply wait. He sits and feels the presence of the forest, the slowly moving river and the softly shifting patterns of life and light all around him. As he waits, a fish begins to work at the bait on one of his lines, but even then he does not move. Suddenly she is there. His heart thumps once in his chest and then is quiet as he. She frowned and paced away from the door, chewing nervously on her finger as she peered out the small window. She looked across the olive trees to the distant desert. If she could get word to her father about Marid’s death, then perhaps he would offer to repay the bridal price so that she could return home. The voices in the hall grew louder and she turned nervously toward the door. Her trembling fingers reached for her veil. She heard the lock scrap and her fingers fumbled in an effort to cover her face before anyone other than her husband saw her without it. The heavy door thudded back and Thabit’s broad form filled the entryway. His massive hand grabbed the veil and pulled it away. ‘You are my property now, there is no reason to hide your face.’ Meekly she lowered her hands, allowing Thabit to circle her with leering, lustful scorn. Hatred radiated from him. She resisted the urge to cower as he leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. ‘You enchanted my father. He was.
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