Between the Grapevines

2. Itnan

The rise of the morning sun brought news of a planned raid by the Occupational Forces on the north-eastern side of the Al-Khalil. Riyad was spending the last hour at his post resting beneath the painted sky of the arriving dusk when a sudden jolt nearly knocked him off of the cool bench. His eyes remained heavy as Riyad's hand gripped the loose sleeve of the man leaning over him, his focus taking a moment to adjust to the brighter sky.

Above him, Hamza's features were darkened by the shadow of the rising run behind him. "Come on, the others are already at the stables. We have to ride for the northern side," he hauled Riyad off of the bench. "You should be glad Farhan didn't see you sleeping."

He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. "I wasn't sleeping."

"It doesn't matter if you were. Here, wet your face and get up," Hamza gripped the clay jug of water that stood on the inside of the smallest tent, protected from any blowing dust or sand. Riyad cupped his hands in front of him as the man poured the clear water into his palms. It was cold to his palms and ice to his face. Insulated in the clay canister, the cold water retained its temperate even in the hottest of hours. Riyad held his hands out again for some more to wet his parched throat with.

He wiped the remaining dampness of his hands over his hair then across the back of his neck. By the time Hamza placed the jug back in its place, Riyad had secured his shoes and begun moving toward the distant stables. "Have they planned another raid?" Riyad asked, trying to blink away the dull ache pulsing from his skull. Sleep-deprivation.

"Planned and initiated. Word arrived late," Hamza replied swiftly.

"A delay?"

"Mustafa was shot."

"He's dead?" Riyad paused.

Hamza threw his arm around Riyad's neck to drag him forward, a comforting smile plastered onto his features when he turned to him. "Shot, not dead. Amer took him to the hospital when he arrived. He'll meet us back here once we return, by God's will."

"By God's will," he repeated.

Farhan was mounting his mane when Riyad and Hamza arrived at the wooden stables. He spared them a word of urgency before kicking against the horse's belly and taking off down the backroads of the grapevine fields. Riyad's path led him quickly to the grey stallion near the end of the long walkway. Her previous white colors now tainted with the signs of all the years she'd taken Riyad across the desert dunes and farmlands. Still, at the sight of him, she kicked her back legs against the floor and huffed in excitement.

Riyad smiled at the sight of her. "Did you miss me, Ta'ira?"

She bowed her head as he pulled the lead rope around her snout and behind both of her standing ears. Ta'ira had been introduced to him during his first few days at the camp, but she'd been cold and distrusting then. Riyad still had the scars and lingering bruises to show the effort he'd placed into earning her trust.

"Where's your saddle?" Hamza asked, kicking his leg over his horse as the animal trudged excitedly toward the exit of the large building. He tugged on the reins to urge patience so he could turn to Riyad.

Riyad hopped onto Ta'ira's back without a saddle, letting his legs settle around her muscular belly. He nudged the rope to make sure it was tightened comfortably over her nose, letting the stallion lead him independently over to where Hamza stood. Riyad smiled brightly as he leaned forward to run his hands gently over the dark-stained shades over the edge of her snout and darkening her watchful eyes. "You cannot fly with a saddle, Hamza," Riyad replied with a light wink.