As I walked away from Mundhir's shop, I had another destination in mind while I waited for nightfall. I strolled through the Market breathing in the heady scents of jasmine and saffron. Even through the shade of the dusty overhead canopies, my body drank in the heat of my homeland.
Past stalls of trinkets and spices and other supposed wonders, I stepped into an absolutely nondescript dead-end alley off the main thoroughfare. A dirty beggar was passed out in the corner, lying in a puddle of urine. There was a stout wooden door across from him.
As I walked towards the door, I hummed a short tune and spoke a few lines from a poem, "Lost are the lions of the desert, forever shall they wander."
The beggar opened his eyes, and lifted a long walking stick. He staggered to the door and tapped an intricate pattern in a specific rhythm. The door opened, and I stepped inside.
"Greetings, brothers. I am home."
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