Welcome to the desert of the real.
-Morpheus
In KhairAllah’s herd there was a Hashi, a Yearling, and to her we fed extra millet from a canvas sack we kept at the fireside. One late moonless night I was awakened with a start, the Hashi’s mouth had taken hold of me through the sleeping bag, mistaking my gluteus for her grain, ending my dream and rousing me to the reality of the desert, its stars so bright I could thread a needle.