Desert Commander

1

Iran (Khorasan Province)
15th century

"Stop that thief; she robbed me," a man said, running behind a girl.

She pushed her legs hard against the muddy surface. Thundering footsteps trailing behind her were getting closer.

Her lengthy hair danced against her hip as she sprinted with an unwavering determination, as if her life depended on never stopping.

Glancing over her shoulder, she checked if the man was still pursuing her but to her horror, she saw a thick stick in his hand. He looked like a maniac following her.

"Stop, you little scoundrel."

She grew increasingly frightened and quickened her pace, running with even more speed. She was already gasping for air, finding it difficult to run in a lengthy skirt.

Suddenly, she saw a big man coming in front of her. Not able to stop, she found herself crashing into him.

She winced in pain.

"Aah"

He resembled a massive wall, very huge. His face remained concealed behind a scarf, preventing her from catching a glimpse of his features.

"Huff, thank God you caught her" the grey man said, huffing like a pig.

"She robbed me in Bazar," he continued. 

Oman looked at the girl and then at her hands. She was holding a piece of bread and clutching it to her chest. She was tinier and more fragile, as if a teen.

As the merciless sun sliced its way through the mist, his first impulse was to get the girl into the shade.

She raised her hazel eyes to his face which were unusually clear and steady. The long, curling eyelashes shaded her eyes. She was wrapped in a shabby old cloak. Her face was covered with dust, her skirt was torn, and her hair was dirty. She was the epitome of beauty, if the dirt on her face could be removed.

Her feet, despite the hot sand, were bare. She looked like a girl in her early teen years.

"Give that girl to me. I'll make her pay," the man with the stick said as he reached out his free hand to seize her wrist.

Before he could do that, Oman grabbed his wrist and clutched it in a tight grip. He had a way of looking at a person with his dark eyes. So focused and intent that it can make any man bend his knee and submit.

"What has she stolen?" Oman asked the old man coldly.

The old man paused for a moment, taken aback. Oman clutched his wrist even harder, making him wince.

"Aww, she took my loaf of bread and fled," he replied, attempting to release his wrist from Oman's hold.

Oman left him with a jerk. He grabbed handful of gold coins from his cotton bag and  flung them carelessly onto the ground, causing them to scatter in all directions. The man looked at the ground in disbelief as he lowered himself to pick up the coins. Those coins were more than he needed.

He laughed evilly, showing his dirty teeth.

"Waah, Allah will give you double, my son," he said while laughing, and he walked away swaying his hand full of gold coins.

Her blazing eyes surveyed him. There was something about him; an aura of authority, a touch me not glaze-which dazzled and at the same time made her want her to reach out, just to see if he was real. He both compelled and intimidated.

He glanced one last time at her before walking away, leaving her rooted to the same spot. Carefully, she watched him strode away and then followed his footsteps.