Children's laughter—a mad, joyous jumble of shouts and guffaws—drifted into the tent through the dusty alleyway outside. Children's laughter was the laughter of ordinariness, of an untroubled world unweighed by genetic code and heavenly accountings. Inside, there was a stillness heavy with the burden of a miracle that had to be concealed.
Dawud waited until Tariq had swallowed the remainder of the water, his movements still possessed of that unnerving, effortless fluidity. Even the motion of swallowing, which would have been a signal once for a fit of coughing, was now merely… an action. Dawud watched his brother's throat, half-hoping to see the silver static gleam showing through the skin.
"Tariq," Dawud began, his voice low and gravelly with an exhaustion that went far beyond physical.
