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entire life here was a charade, a pretense behind which he could work. What would it be like to belong? To wear the badges of a Tribe? Have people greet him as if he belonged and not merely as if he were being tolerated?
    So depressing to never quite fit anywhere.
    He wondered if his father was awake. Probably. Idiot never slept when he was worried, and he'd railed and railed against his son's being the one to go into the Desert. He snorted. Like anyone else was half as good as he?
    Hardly. Still, he'd hated to put that look on his father's face. And his mother's. Was mother all right? Were the other women taking care of her? Of course they were, but she would still have that look in her eyes, the one that made them look dim, like a candle behind a curtain.
    She would start to fret the moment anyone left her alone - which he knew his father would not let happen, but for going on five years now…
    Maybe they had gotten tired of worrying and were all right. Oh, this was why he didn't let himself think about it.
    Ignoring the sharp bite of homesickness that hit him like a chill wind, he held tighter to his horse's reigns and forcefully turned his mind back to business. Calling up the images he'd memorized less than an hour ago, he compared it with other remembered pictures, sliding them together, seeing how they looked overlaid.
    He was the only one who could have done this. No one else had his memory, the ability to perfectly remember something after seeing it just once. That memory was crucial, because to put to paper what he was memorizing would endanger every last Tribe in the desert.
    Frowning in thought as images moved and shifted in his head, concentrating hard on picking out inconsistencies, errors, he barely noticed when his horse began to slow down and the trees of an oasis came into view, black and gray and white beneath the moonlight. "That's my Angel," he murmured softly. Sliding from the saddle, he led her to the water and let her drink while he unfastened his bedroll and the saddles bags. When she'd had enough, he led her into a nearby copse of trees.

    One of the smaller oases in the enormous Desert; if the Viper Tribe was so close it was probably used with fair frequency. Hopefully no one would come this way before he could catch a few hours rest.
    In a few days time, he'd be back in his own tent, safe amongst the Tribe he was staying with, and could enjoy some real rest before he came back south to locate the next Tribe.
    Comparing what he'd gleaned from the Vipers with what he already knew, it would seem the Jackals were his next target.
    He set out his bedroll and drew his robes and cloak tightly around his body, crooning softly when Angel dipped her head to nuzzle him goodnight. Closing his eyes, he pretended that the smell of trees and water and sand were incense and flowers, old books and rich, dark tea.
    Soon, he told himself. Soon his mother would be fussing over him and his father lecturing up a storm about how stupid he'd been to do this. Then they'd settle down and listen to his stories and his father would constantly interrupt to ask about a dozen things that had or hadn't changed since he'd left the Desert to live in Tavamara. His mother would shake her head at both of them and press him for the details he would be trying to leave out so as not to worry her.
    Then, after he had settled down, and they began to leave him in peace, he could begin to work on finding a way back to the Desert. He would find a Tribe that would have a real place for him, maybe…
    Snorting at the absurdity of his thoughts, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the stars, ticking them off in his head from sheer habit. Maiden Fetching Water. Night Sheik. First Horse. Dozens of others, spreading out across the sky, blending into one another.
    They never looked this pretty back home.
    Rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, sleep. If he was lucky he would get four hours of sleep before he