He put his hand on hers, and she turned hers palm up. Their fingers twined together.
That night he was restless; he didn’t know why. The stories stirred within him like ferrets waking from curled slumber and the memory of holding Leila’s hand in the courtyard by the well was vivid. He could recall the touch of each finger, the warmth of her skin, the slight beat of her pulse knocking against his flesh. At last he got up and went out through the passages, returning to the courtyard.
The moon was full this night, and the rim of the well hovered in the darkness like a ring of silver. Some desert night bird made a sound like tiny struck bells. For a long time, he stood looking out at the magical scene. Then, gradually, he became aware that he heard another’s breathing. At first he took it fo
