Desert Thief
©2004 Elizabeth L. Clark

They say only a fool flees into the arid desert, but that didn't apply to ones that knew where the oasis was. The thief knew where they all were for he had been raised in the desert.

He had robbed a wealthy caravan and fled to his tiny hide out in the middle of the scorching sands. Among the jewels and riches he found a small cloth bound stack of papers. He scowled but opened it to read anyway.

'I am so excited! Today I go to be wed to the husband my parents chose for me! He is said to be very handsome and gentle. I will be an only wife as he refuses to have concubines... isn't that oddly sweet?'

The thief settled in for the night, roasting some of the meat he had found and making a pot of rich dark tea. He read on and found himself getting lost in the story of the woman's life.

'I am a wife now! He is sweet and very gentle. I am indeed a lucky woman.'

'I am going to be a mother! The women tending me swear there are two sons in my belly... I hope so for that would so please my beloved husband! Since the wars, there have been few children born, much less twins!'

'I am a mother. Twins boys, strong, healthy and both bearing the mark of the hawk on their little necks. My husband is so pleased!'

The thief froze and his hand went to the mark on his neck, could it be?

'They stole my SON!! Sand dwellers... they slipped in and tried to take both babies, but only took the second born... my husband searches for him as I weep for my little one. My heart is broken and his brother cries for him.'

The thief closed the book and with speed raced back to the area where he had over taken the caravan. He followed their trail into a small forested area at the base of a mountain. When they saw him they grabbed him, yelling and screaming. He pleaded with them to be allowed to make his case before the head of the tribe.

They took him into the largest tent and he faced what he now knew were his parents. Without a word he handed over the book and pulled his dark hair aside, baring the mark.

Another man walked in and the two looked at each other, even under the dirt one could see they were carbon copies of each other. Their mother got to her feet and wept as she hugged her sons to her. The lost son begged for forgiveness, pleading that all he had ever know was thieving.

His family forgave him and the father hugged him tightly, swearing that he would be taught the ways of the tribe as he should have been.

He took his place in the tribe, becoming a warrior and soon a husband and father. Of all the lessons he taught his children, one was most important of all.

The written word is more powerful than anything else in the world.