Sandstorm by Megan Derr Page A

now, I met the woman who was to be my wife. I looked into her eyes and realized something - I did not ever want to see her cry. It distressed me greatly that should I die one day, this woman might be what my mother had become - a mere shadow. In that single moment, I wanted nothing more than her happiness, and I knew quite suddenly that mindless violence would not bring that. I have been trying to reduce the number of Tribes I call enemy ever since." He shook his head slowly back and forth, then stared somberly at Isra. "I keep hoping such a moment might come to you, dear nephew, because I fear what you will become otherwise."
    "The Desert is not a land of peace. Those that think so are destined only to die that much more swiftly. Everyone knows this. How can you have peace in a land where you do not even know who your neighbors are and whether they are plotting to attack you? You saw what was done to Fox, we know what Ghost did to Cat."
    "Yes," Jabbar murmured. "But we only heard Cat's version of the tale."
    "You doubt what Cat says?"
    "No," Jabbar said. "I am merely curious as to what Ghost would have said."
    Isra stood up. "You make no sense. Ghost is our enemy, why should we care what they think?"

    Jabbar heaved another sigh. "You are confined to your tent until I say otherwise, nephew. I do not think I will let you out until you prove to me you have some sense. I will not trust a man who goes against my orders, especially one who does so to kill. Is there not enough death in the desert? I thought we raised you better than this."
    "When Ghost gives me a reason not to regard them as enemies, then perhaps I will display this 'sense' you're forever going on about, honored Uncle. Body, mind, soul." He stormed from the tent, not waiting to hear the reply, but when he reached his tent he paused only long enough to gather up a few things then blew out of it again, all but running toward the horses, saddling his rapidly and fleeing camp before he could be stopped.
    He'd suffer additional punishment when he returned but right now remaining in his confining tent was more than he could bear. Ghost had pushed for peace, then turned on them. Ghost has slaughtered an entire Cat encampment, and it was Ghost who had been with Cobra at the ruined Fox camp. Against his will, his fingers reached up to trace the scar running the length of his right cheek.
    The sky was slowly beginning to lighten above him, shifting from the black of night to the hazy gray of morning as the sun slowly began to rise. Isra loosed the reigns, letting his horse choose their direction, not caring where he went except away.

    It was an hour or so after sunrise when he reached the oasis, and Isra bit back the bitter feelings that rose as he recalled the last time he'd been this way - the day Ghost has proven they had no real interest in peace. Dismounting, exhausted to the bone, dreading his return home now that his anger had expended itself, he walked his horse through the thin copse of trees to the small pool of water near the center.
    He saw the horse first, and his hand went immediately to his sword. His eyes sought for the rider of the blood-red horse, but what he saw brought him up short.
    A man stared back at him, one who might have been handsome except for the wealth of bruises marring his dusky skin, the split lips that looked ready to start bleeding at the slightest movement. His hair came just to his chin, colored the dark brown-black common to Desert people - but it fell in thick, twisting curls, drawing the gaze to his deep gold eyes.
    Ruby glinted on his right hand, and Isra could not believe that of all people to encounter…
    "I believe you promised to kill me when next we met, my desert rose."
    "It would appear you are much in need of the Lady's pity," Isra replied, and led his horse to drink. It would be so easy, so very easy indeed, to draw his sword and rid the Desert of the Ghost Amir. It would be a hard blow to the Ghost Tribe, and out here