Tabby is weaving between dried-out shrubs, along the cracked open soil, leading us towards the ominous outline, and with our every step, the beam of the ‘lighthouse’ pulses brighter ahead of us.
The closer we get, the more I can make out a large structure in front of us with a massive chimney poking into the sky, which emits that glorious light now and again, like a large candle or a war searchlight.
I’m so hypnotised by the sight of this beautiful light that I almost miss the sound of a dozen guttural voices approaching us.
The voices are calling to each other, interrupted by sharp claps of whips, reaping the silence of the terrain, followed by weak cries.
I sprint after Tabby, grabbing her arm.
“Tabby”, I whisper, warning her of the voices ahead. “Listen...”
“It’s okay Ariel”, she
