During the game Callum called egg hunt, I quickly realized it was nothing like its name suggested. It was closer to the sports of kings—only instead of horses, we rode camels, and instead of spears, we guided them to strike a large leather ball across the field and into a carved stone hole.
“I win! Finally!”
I shouted when the last ball rolled perfectly into place. Winning even one game out of ten felt like a miracle, and my sudden burst of joy made Callum laugh openly. His laughter eased something tight in my chest, making my lack of athletic grace feel less embarrassing, less heavy.
As we came to a halt, I noticed a small shaded area prepared nearby—low tables, chilled drinks, and fabrics stretched overhead to protect us from the heat. The sight alone made me feel calmer.
This was no
