women doing embroidery work, young men hunting and children frolicking. The caravan had
also began its trade. To kick off her day, Najia decided to hunt for a bit before having lunch. She
brought her bow and started towards the dunes.
Even to this day, after fifteen years of residence, the desert had never failed to please her.
The vast Gobi dunes spread before her eyes, and the holy ridges of the Tibetan plateau marked
the boundary with grace and dignity. To the south, patches of green emerged: oases, paradise for
short-lived flowers and cactus, as well as thirsty travellers. The breeze was chilly yet welcoming,
not strong enough to wake a full-scale sandstorm thankfully. As if propelled by all these, Najia
was especially patient this time. She discovered a polecat’s den and made a swift kill with a pluck
of her bowstring; she watched as a lizard tried to lick up the ants unsuccessfully. She even found
tracks and paw prints of-----what she believed was-----a pack of Siberian wolves from further
north. The sun was warm on her face; she hoped that Yanxun was also soaking in sunlight, just
like her. Suddenly she realized what she must do. Najia hoisted the fresh-kill to her shoulder and
made her way back to camp.
Yanxun’s hands shivered violently, his eyes prickling with tears. His vision was blurred, but
the handwriting on the letter was unmistakably Najia’s.
Dear Brother,
I believe I’m not coming to you. Although I sometimes yearn for a new change, I forget what
I already have in here, in the desert. You never realize you’re in the best place until you are far
away from it. Do you remember the clear night sky, and how Ciao makes up legends of the stars?
Waiting is a beautiful prelude for reunion.
We may not have televisions or comfortable bed sheets; but here in desert, I find a home of a
different kind. It is one of copper and clay, but mostly it is because I feel the love strongest here.
Love,
Najia
* * *
