Dusk comes sooner than expected. The sun gilds the frayed edges of the sky in golden and gray. Mother and I retreat to the front, to the fire that rumbles while we wait.
As the nightfall welcomes the shadows to our room, the darkness crowds my being with uninvited guests of anguish and unease. Thoughts of what lies ahead, and of what is unknown, cloud my mind, twisting the gravest possibilities into steadfast beliefs.
“Mother, why don’t you tell me of your home,” I say, for I need to divert my restive mind. Who knows how long it will be before they return?
So she tells me of the vast grasslands where the animals roam, and her people live in tents of felt and skin, of the desert and dunes that sing their song at midnight, and of the deep blue lakes and crystal frosted mountain peaks t
