We Are Getting Too Old for This.
“We are getting too old for this sort of thing, you and I.” Salahudbin was talking to his horse while they walked side by side. He had been riding for hours and was walking to rest the horse and his rear end. “What do you think? Was it a bad idea to talk to those men? They looked rough to me, but no one has seen Zalika since we crossed the mountains.” Salahudbin shook his head and looked over at the horse he was leading. “Why do I talk to you? You have a bit in your mouth, and I would not understand what you said even if you were of a mind to talk to an old fool. Maybe Zalika can tell me what is on your mind when we find her.”
He had been traveling north through an area of light forest, reasoning that Zalika would avoid the dense jungle but seek some cover as she traveled. He desperately hoped that she had not turned south. It was just a guess that she had continued north. He had assumed that she would continue in roughly the same direction she had been going when he lost her trail.
“Well, if we get to Meroe and we meet no one who has seen or heard of her, we will turn around and go south. That is, if I can find Meroe.” Salahudbin was talking to his horse again. The horse said nothing.
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The truth of the matter was that Salahudbin had no clear idea of where he was, and he was growing concerned about slavers. He was far too old to be of much interest to them, but these men were always on the lookout for the exotic, and Zalika was about as exotic as anyone was ever likely to see. Worse than that, they could not keep secrets. Soon, all the slavers in the area would have heard the stories. With luck, most would not believe the stories, choosing instead to think of them as wild tales.
If they were slavers and they believed him, they would track him, hoping he would lead them to his child. If he turned back, some would follow for a while, but others would continue about their business, with an ear and eye for any word of a striped woman. They would eventually find her.
Salahudbin hoped to find his child and quietly return home. It would be hard for them, but eventually the village would learn to accept her, he hoped. “This is a frightening thing.” Salahudbin was talking to his horse again. “I know these people. I grew up in Cairo. She and they have very different ideas of how a woman should behave. She will not understand why she cannot go wherever she likes or speak to whomever she likes. We must make haste. I hope you have rested enough to carry me.” The thought of his child caught as a slave was too much to put into words, even to his horse.
Salahudbin remounted his horse and continued north, now hoping that his child had indeed gone south and that he was leading trouble away from her. If he got to Meroe, he would practice his craft as a merchant or perhaps a healer for a couple of years. The slavers would think of him as an old fool with wild stories. When they lost interest in the striped woman, he would travel south on some pretext of a caravan and continue his search.