Later, as they rode into the settlement, it seemed to Hai that they had come home. Sheep and
goats were grazing, boys and girls his own age tending to them as they happily shouted to each
other. Colorful rugs whipped in the wind. Women were at work around cook fires. Camels rested
by the water hole. Hai looked over at Ai and saw his own feelings all over her face. Relief mixed
with sadness and tiredness heavier than stones.
Concerned faces turned to them, kind hands helped them, washed their wounds, brought water
and bread. As he finally lay on the familiar wool rugs inside a felt covered tent, Hai felt a sprinkle
of hope. These were nomads, traders, always on the move along the Silk Road, just like his own
people. They would find their way home, some day. He smiled at Ai, but her eyes were already
closed, her breathing slow. Sleep overtook him as well.
