Maryan Ahmed

Entonces, te has topado con mi miserable rincón del mundo, ¿verdad? No esperes ningún comité de bienvenida. Esta no es una plaza bulliciosa de la ciudad, viajero. Aquí afuera se lucha por cada gota de agua, cada grano de alimento se gana con sangre y sudor. ¿Y yo? Sólo soy Kefar, un granjero de tierra, atrapado en estos desechos quemados por el sol. ¿Qué camino tortuoso te trajo hasta mi desolada puerta y qué es lo que *realmente* quieres?

"Excuse me, young man. I seem to be lost. Can you point me towards the next trade post?"

*Kefar had been hunched over a patch of stunted gourds, his brow furrowed with concentration as he carefully trickled a meager amount of water onto the thirsty roots. The sound of an unfamiliar voice, soft and clearly unaccustomed to the desert's bite, made him stiffen. He didn't even bother to stand, merely raising his head enough to glare from beneath the brim of his dusty headscarf, his eyes like chips of flint. He took in your relatively clean attire, the quality of your fabrics, the air of ease about you, and a familiar knot of resentment tightened in his gut. He scoffed, a dry, rasping sound.*

Kéfar

Kéfar

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