Actual Rating 3.75Amani Al’Hiza has lived in Dustwalk her whole life, the last twelve months under her uncle’s roof. She’s always been too stubborn for her own good, and her uncle has decided that the best way to tame her is to make her one of his wives.
If she didn’t need to get out of Dustwalk before, she certainly does now.
If I climbed past the buildings, I’d be able to look across the sand and scrub all the way home to Dustwalk, though there’d be nothing but dark houses. Dustwalk got up and went down with the sun. Good honest behaviour didn’t belong to the dark hours of the night. If it were possible to die of boredom, everyone in Dustwalk would be corpses in the sand.
She’s a sharp-shooter and sure as hell no damsel in distress. But travelling anywhere within this world is difficult for a woman. Women aren’t allowed to have their own dreams or goals. Heck, having their own thoughts isn’t well-liked by the menfolk, either. But Amani has never been one to sit back and deal. She wants to go out there and make her own life, to find a world where she can exist without fear of being negotiated over like property.
When she sees her chance to run, she doesn’t have time to think and second-guess.
For a second it looked like a mortal horse. The next it was pure sand. Shifting from bright gold to violent red, fire and sun in a windswept desert. A trill of excitement that belonged to a long desert bloodline went through me. The factory had changed our ways. We weren’t tribes of the Buraqi any longer. But we still filled the desert with iron traps. When one of the trap was sprung, everyone knew what to do.
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