I.
Days passed.
Amro had managed to train without Kinan noticing — and now the sand threads moved when he called them, clean and fluid, with a ease that hadn't been there before. It satisfied him in a quiet way. The fact that he had come this far in such a short time told him something important: his old skill wasn't gone. It had only been sleeping. A month, perhaps less, and he'd have it back in full.
"Finally," he said, catching his breath with some difficulty. "Finally — I can say I'm returning to what I once was."
Hours of unbroken training and total concentration had left him soaked through with sweat. Concentration was everything with the Gift — without it, without the mind held perfectly still and directed, the element did as it pleased or refused to move at all. A scattered mind was a useless one.
He fetched a broom and swept the courtyard methodically, gathering the sand that had spread across the stones and returning it to the sacks. He hid the sacks, went inside, and spent the better part of two hours waiting — drifting in thought, as was his habit — until Kinan came home.
"There you are," Amro said, straightening up in his seat.
Kinan said nothing. He dropped the bags by the wall, fell onto the bed, and let his body go completely slack. Amro watched him for a moment with mild irritation, then let it go and left the room.
Kinan opened one eye slowly and stared at the ceiling.
His mind began to move.
⁂
II.
"You don't look at all like the son of that merchant — your features don't resemble his in the slightest."
"You've misunderstood, sir. That man isn't my father. He's the person responsible for raising me and teaching me the trade. My parents don't live here — they're somewhere far away."
"From what you're telling me, I take it you've never actually seen your family. Is that right?"
"I... yes." Kinan had lowered his head when he answered.
"Never mind that. In any case — I'll take two lengths of this cloth and one of those shirts. It looks a little worn, but it should serve the purpose."
⁂
That had been the last exchange of the day. A simple enough conversation — and yet, lying there now with his eyes on the ceiling, Kinan felt something shift. Something that had been sitting just below the surface for a long time, unexamined, was beginning to take on a shape he couldn't quite ignore.
He wasn't certain whether what he was feeling was real or just the product of not knowing enough. But it was there.
He got up, washed his face, and went out to the courtyard. He picked up the bucket and began watering the peach sapling — and with each pour, the thoughts came faster, until one of them surfaced so suddenly it stopped his hand mid-air.
"How did that man know? How did he know I'd never seen my family — before I told him?"
He stood very still. His eyes moved, tracing the edges of something he couldn't yet name.
"Boy." Amro's voice cut through it. "You're miles away. What's going on?"
Kinan startled and stumbled over his words:
"No — nothing, nothing at all. I was just looking at the tree. It's really grown, hasn't it — ha."
Amro didn't believe it. He knew the look of a person whose mind was somewhere else entirely — and he knew the look of suspicion. He stepped closer and placed his hand on Kinan's shoulder.
"It has," he said, steering them somewhere safer. "And in a little while it'll surprise us with those pink blossoms — especially in spring." He paused, something from a long time ago crossing his face, and then he smiled and kept going. "Back home, our whole area was full of flowering trees. Beautiful colours everywhere. My friend and I used to play between them — and train, too, sparring with sticks. We were young." He shook his head slowly. "What days those were."
Kinan looked at him sideways.
After a beat of silence:
"You had a friend?"
III.
Amro hesitated before answering.
"I... yes. I had a friend, once."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. We lost each other a long time ago."
He didn't stay long after that. The answer left his mouth and he was out the door almost immediately, leaving Kinan standing there with the bucket still in his hand.
Kinan watched him go.
The pattern was becoming familiar — too familiar. Every time a question edged close to his family, or to Amro's past, the conversation was redirected. Something was offered in its place: a memory, a deflection, a gentle change of subject. It had happened enough times now that Kinan had started to notice the shape of it.
He didn't know what to do with that noticing yet. He was young enough that some part of him still resisted doubting Amro — adults carried experience, adults knew things, adults had reasons for what they did even when those reasons weren't shared. That instinct was still in him. It held.
But it held a little less than it used to.
He set the thought aside, finished watering the sapling, and went to the stable to straighten a few things.
IV.
He was rearranging, shifting things along the walls, when his eye landed on something in the corner.
Two large leather sacks, set against the wall as though they'd always been there.
He hadn't seen them before. He was certain of that.
He moved toward them slowly, crouched down, and pressed his hand against the nearest one. His expression shifted — puzzlement pulling at his features. He opened the sack.
Sand.
He stared at it.
"Sand. Why would he bring sand here? Were these here before and I just never noticed?... No. No, I don't think so. I'm sure these weren't here a few days ago. Has Amro been bringing sand into the stable? And what does he need sand for?"
He pressed two fingers to his chin.
"This man's behaviour has been getting stranger. I need to find out what's going on."
He closed the sack carefully, stepped back, and stood there for a moment — eyes fixed on the two sacks in the corner. Then he turned and went inside.