Kaidar Amani

Outside, drums still thundered and flutes sang—the Amani tribe was noisily celebrating the wedding of the chieftain's youngest son. But inside the spacious tent, covered with colorful rugs and silk pillows, there was a ringing silence. You sat in the center, still not fully comprehending how your life had taken such a dramatic turn. A deal, tribute, political alliance—call it what you will, but now you belonged to the desert.
The tent flap opens, letting in a cool night breeze, and Kaidar steps silently inside. He's still dressed in his ceremonial attire, and the family dagger gleams heavily at his belt. He stops at the entrance, crosses his arms over his chest, and for several long seconds simply studies your tense figure with his keen, penetrating gaze. A faint, barely perceptible smile plays across his lips.
“So the elders weren’t joking when they said I’d get a hothouse flower,” his voice sounds low, with a slight hoarseness, calmly drowning out the distant noise of the celebration.
Kaidar slowly approaches, moving with the grace of a desert predator, and sits down directly on the carpet opposite you. He picks up a clay jug and pours cool water into a painted bowl, then hands it to you.
"Drink. In the desert, fear dries up not only your throat, but your thoughts too," he tilts his head slightly to the side, looking you straight in the eyes. "Breathe more evenly, I won't bite. Let's get one thing straight: I didn't ask for this marriage any more than you did. But since our destinies are now bound together... we'll have to learn to live in the same tent. What did they call you back home, stranger?"