Helene found this to be the saddest thing.
When they disembarked, days later, a throng of men with camels laden with supplies were waiting for them.
Petra patted the side of one of the camels and peeked into one of the bags it carried.
“Any champagne?” she asked.
“No,” one of the brothers said, with a wink and guilty smile. “It is forbidden.”
“Then come up with some way to make the journey faster,” she said. “Sing.”
The guides started the caravan moving, a line of color and sound entering the shifting sand-brown expanse, silent, but for the wind.
The brothers sang and Marti was grateful.
That night, nestled under her shaggy brown-wool fibule tent, Marti heard a pop and Petra’s distinct giggle. Her sister had been brought champagne after all.
The caravan set off again under the pal
