the waters failed to comfort her. She couldn’t figure out what she was afraid of: people she loved
dearest were all going out tonight, but they have done so before, and all have come home safely.
Or was she afraid of the horrors that she would have to face upon defeat? She stayed listlessly by
the crescent lake that day, hugging her knees on the Gobi sand, hating her protruding ribs because
of the lack of food.
She saw the ambush squad left. There were too many young men. Not all of them even
have fitting armours. Nearly all had crying sisters, mothers trying to stay strong. Ayana found
herself struggling to put her unexplainable fear towards Hamid’s operation into words. She was
frightened about this “last strike” as her father had put it. With their destiny unknown, she stared
at the blank page. All emotions and words fled from her mind in the presence of fear.
Hamid smiled. The same crooked smile that made the sand shift beneath Ayana’s feet.
The army returned, but less than half of it. Ayana rushed out, searching for the familiar faces. She
found her father’s, looking as if he had aged ten years. Then her brother’s, battle-worn, though
alive. But… “Hamid?” Ayana’s voice came out higher than usual, fear choking her. Her brother
slowly guided her to a cot.
“I’m sorry, little ‘yana,” her brother said.
The ground shifted under her feet again, but this time, it threatened to swallow her up.
She started to howl. Slowly, the cries turned into sobs, until Ayana felt she had drained the
moon lake with her tears. Everywhere reminded her of a moment shared with Hamid, and each
brought a new wave of tears. Every drop of air she breathed in reeked of grief and sorrow and
hatred, and at last, numbness.
“We should evacuate the village, let the bandits in and ambush them,” Ayana overheard a man
speaking at another –now hated – war council.
“But how?” sighed her father, sounding hopeless and worn out.
Ayana let the word revenge swirl around in her head: revenge upon the evil Kyrgyz, who
threatened her home, who worn out her brave father, who killed Hamid, who ruined her life
completely. She flung open the door. “I know… I know how.”
“Leave, my girl,” Ayana’s father said.
“Not until you hear my plan, father…” replied Ayana. When she finished, everyone argued
against it, that Ayana was too young; that she was a girl; that one person alone wouldn’t be able
to fend off the enemy.
“What is the point of arguing? This is the best way. You need every man to protect the tribe
when evacuating. You can’t afford to leave a squad. Look at your men! I see nothing but battle-
worn faces in old men and fear in boys’ eyes.”
“And why are you brave enough?” a captain demanded.
* * *
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