Junayd waited until everyone was gone before he turned and faced the hundred-year-old tree. Shoving his hands into his coat pocket, he slowly walked around it, carefully scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The minutes stretched in silence and he began to wonder if perhaps he was mistaken. He stopped on the back side of the tree near a low branch that curved toward the ground before reaching upward.
“You broke his arm,” he said, waiting to see if the shadow would respond.
“He deserved it—and more,” a soft voice said in the darkness.
He twisted, trying to pinpoint the location of the speaker. His eyes locked on a tall hedge bush.
He took a step toward it and stopped. “You’re right. In my country, in the desert, I would have killed him for abusing a woman like that,” Junayd re
