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Night 23: The Memory of Water

Night fell over the lands of exile, and Youssef ibn Baaddi felt the weight of his father's manuscripts pressing on his shoulders like fate itself. Each step on the road to Fez was a step further from Granada, yet something in his heart refused to move away.

Fatima walked beside him, silent as she often was since they had left al-Andalus. Hamza brought up the rear, his hand on his knife handle, eyes watchful. Tarek scanned the horizon with that expression Youssef had learned to recognize: the look of someone who had seen too many wars to trust peace.

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That evening, as they stopped to rest near a spring, Youssef opened the cedar chest. He carefully took out a manuscript — the one his father called "The Voice of the Cedar" — and began reading softly.

His father's words floated in the evening air like embers carried by the wind. Fatima closed her eyes. Hamza stopped eating, his head tilted. Even Tarek seemed to soften, he who never showed his emotions.

✦ Tomorrow, Night 24: The Last Poem... ✦