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The sands were somewhat colder in Kanun, but the tribe never truly stopped moving. Their lifestyle did not allow for such complacency. They followed where the sands took them and where their requirements of living and trade demanded. Currently, the tribe moved slowly into the Eastern Dunes on the backs of their camels.
The large sandy landmarks made it difficult and exhausting to only walk, so many of the tribe members switched off between riding the camels or walking, giving other members a turn to rest. The leier of the tribe and his wives settled on the backs of their own camels, though Hasani often hopped down to walk whenever he felt the need to stretch his legs.
This border trade was to be steeped in crafted goods and medicinal herbs. The healers had been gathering anything and everything they could for any small groves or oasis' they passed in order to offer for trade. Some of the most useful herbs were the hardest to obtain. And then they were harder to obtain, one could trade more for them. That meant more vegetables, more supplies, and longer stints of travel without the threat of hungry bellies.
They didn't often sell their herbs, but their searches had brought them an overabundance fo them. It was unlikely that they would use all of their supply before the plants lost their vitality and then became utterly useless. Thus, in this time of peace, it was perfectly acceptable not to waste the clippings and to make other uses of them.
Egypt was often in demand of some such herbs and the tribe had figured that fact out years ago.
Finally making it to the border, the tribe flew into a flurry of activity. The children, excited to be among the foreign people and to meet anyone and everyone they could manage, skittered off in various directions. Some were followed by parents or older siblings who played no parts in the selling of wares. Hasani spent much of his time directing and ordering his tribe, helping to set up stalls, and helping to organize merchandise.
When all was settled, Hasani walked his usual cursory walk through the trading area, observing other stalls that had been set up in the area and keeping watch over the tribe members who were walking with items to trade, some stopping at stalls with vegetables and cured meats that they could use for their travels. The leier kept an eye on a stall selling livestock, considering what he had that he could personally trade for a few additional goats or a camel.
Then, still debating the trade in his mind, he turned to make the walk back with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. His dark gaze drifted to his wives, keeping a close eye on them despite the percieved safety of the area. They always took this time to socialize or trade on their own, but that did not stop the protective instinct that Hasani felt for his wives and his people.
Finally pausing by one of the herbalist stalls, he glanced toward his kin with a calm, easy going smile, waiting for the first of the foreign traders who were already flocking to the makeshift market.
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The sands were somewhat colder in Kanun, but the tribe never truly stopped moving. Their lifestyle did not allow for such complacency. They followed where the sands took them and where their requirements of living and trade demanded. Currently, the tribe moved slowly into the Eastern Dunes on the backs of their camels.
The large sandy landmarks made it difficult and exhausting to only walk, so many of the tribe members switched off between riding the camels or walking, giving other members a turn to rest. The leier of the tribe and his wives settled on the backs of their own camels, though Hasani often hopped down to walk whenever he felt the need to stretch his legs.
This border trade was to be steeped in crafted goods and medicinal herbs. The healers had been gathering anything and everything they could for any small groves or oasis' they passed in order to offer for trade. Some of the most useful herbs were the hardest to obtain. And then they were harder to obtain, one could trade more for them. That meant more vegetables, more supplies, and longer stints of travel without the threat of hungry bellies.
They didn't often sell their herbs, but their searches had brought them an overabundance fo them. It was unlikely that they would use all of their supply before the plants lost their vitality and then became utterly useless. Thus, in this time of peace, it was perfectly acceptable not to waste the clippings and to make other uses of them.
Egypt was often in demand of some such herbs and the tribe had figured that fact out years ago.
Finally making it to the border, the tribe flew into a flurry of activity. The children, excited to be among the foreign people and to meet anyone and everyone they could manage, skittered off in various directions. Some were followed by parents or older siblings who played no parts in the selling of wares. Hasani spent much of his time directing and ordering his tribe, helping to set up stalls, and helping to organize merchandise.
When all was settled, Hasani walked his usual cursory walk through the trading area, observing other stalls that had been set up in the area and keeping watch over the tribe members who were walking with items to trade, some stopping at stalls with vegetables and cured meats that they could use for their travels. The leier kept an eye on a stall selling livestock, considering what he had that he could personally trade for a few additional goats or a camel.
Then, still debating the trade in his mind, he turned to make the walk back with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. His dark gaze drifted to his wives, keeping a close eye on them despite the percieved safety of the area. They always took this time to socialize or trade on their own, but that did not stop the protective instinct that Hasani felt for his wives and his people.
Finally pausing by one of the herbalist stalls, he glanced toward his kin with a calm, easy going smile, waiting for the first of the foreign traders who were already flocking to the makeshift market.
The sands were somewhat colder in Kanun, but the tribe never truly stopped moving. Their lifestyle did not allow for such complacency. They followed where the sands took them and where their requirements of living and trade demanded. Currently, the tribe moved slowly into the Eastern Dunes on the backs of their camels.
The large sandy landmarks made it difficult and exhausting to only walk, so many of the tribe members switched off between riding the camels or walking, giving other members a turn to rest. The leier of the tribe and his wives settled on the backs of their own camels, though Hasani often hopped down to walk whenever he felt the need to stretch his legs.
This border trade was to be steeped in crafted goods and medicinal herbs. The healers had been gathering anything and everything they could for any small groves or oasis' they passed in order to offer for trade. Some of the most useful herbs were the hardest to obtain. And then they were harder to obtain, one could trade more for them. That meant more vegetables, more supplies, and longer stints of travel without the threat of hungry bellies.
They didn't often sell their herbs, but their searches had brought them an overabundance fo them. It was unlikely that they would use all of their supply before the plants lost their vitality and then became utterly useless. Thus, in this time of peace, it was perfectly acceptable not to waste the clippings and to make other uses of them.
Egypt was often in demand of some such herbs and the tribe had figured that fact out years ago.
Finally making it to the border, the tribe flew into a flurry of activity. The children, excited to be among the foreign people and to meet anyone and everyone they could manage, skittered off in various directions. Some were followed by parents or older siblings who played no parts in the selling of wares. Hasani spent much of his time directing and ordering his tribe, helping to set up stalls, and helping to organize merchandise.
When all was settled, Hasani walked his usual cursory walk through the trading area, observing other stalls that had been set up in the area and keeping watch over the tribe members who were walking with items to trade, some stopping at stalls with vegetables and cured meats that they could use for their travels. The leier kept an eye on a stall selling livestock, considering what he had that he could personally trade for a few additional goats or a camel.
Then, still debating the trade in his mind, he turned to make the walk back with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. His dark gaze drifted to his wives, keeping a close eye on them despite the percieved safety of the area. They always took this time to socialize or trade on their own, but that did not stop the protective instinct that Hasani felt for his wives and his people.
Finally pausing by one of the herbalist stalls, he glanced toward his kin with a calm, easy going smile, waiting for the first of the foreign traders who were already flocking to the makeshift market.
It wasn’t terribly often that he got out of Damascus but a recent trip to Israel had afforded him not only a way out of his home city, but extended that even further to out of the country of Judea completely. He’d so rarely been out of Judea to Egypt, and it had been years since he’d traveled with his cousin. His cousin was a physician in for the city of Israel but every so often Yonatan wanted to try different herbs that he’d heard about from caravans. With a certain illness threatening to spread, Yonatan had wanted to leave to meet one of the Bedoan tribes immediately. They were known to come to the border of Egypt to trade during this season and Yonatan was going to attempt to catch them.
Amiti had jumped at the chance to go. Off the two men went on the backs of donkeys, across Judea, across Egypt, until they’d reached the border. The whole experience had been both incredible and horrible. While he’d thought he would enjoy traveling, he had decided that he didn’t want to do it at such a breakneck pace. The inns they’d slept in were hit and miss as far as accommodations and food. The worst, absolute worst part, was that while Yonatan was a wonderful person, he snored. Loudly. It was like being inside a vibrating drum and Amiti had to lay there, listening to it, all night.
Once they finally reached the little market, Amiti slid off his donkey’s back and looked around, his hand still on the animal’s withers. This...was it? He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected but it had been more than this. He was used to the stone walls and ancient buildings of his people. Even the mud huts of the poorest Egyptians were better than what he was looking at. His mouth tightened and he followed behind Yonatan as the physician swooped toward the rows of colorful stalls and the dark people manning them.
Amiti took his satchel from the back of the donkey and shouldered it, still glancing around. This was what they’d come for?
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It wasn’t terribly often that he got out of Damascus but a recent trip to Israel had afforded him not only a way out of his home city, but extended that even further to out of the country of Judea completely. He’d so rarely been out of Judea to Egypt, and it had been years since he’d traveled with his cousin. His cousin was a physician in for the city of Israel but every so often Yonatan wanted to try different herbs that he’d heard about from caravans. With a certain illness threatening to spread, Yonatan had wanted to leave to meet one of the Bedoan tribes immediately. They were known to come to the border of Egypt to trade during this season and Yonatan was going to attempt to catch them.
Amiti had jumped at the chance to go. Off the two men went on the backs of donkeys, across Judea, across Egypt, until they’d reached the border. The whole experience had been both incredible and horrible. While he’d thought he would enjoy traveling, he had decided that he didn’t want to do it at such a breakneck pace. The inns they’d slept in were hit and miss as far as accommodations and food. The worst, absolute worst part, was that while Yonatan was a wonderful person, he snored. Loudly. It was like being inside a vibrating drum and Amiti had to lay there, listening to it, all night.
Once they finally reached the little market, Amiti slid off his donkey’s back and looked around, his hand still on the animal’s withers. This...was it? He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected but it had been more than this. He was used to the stone walls and ancient buildings of his people. Even the mud huts of the poorest Egyptians were better than what he was looking at. His mouth tightened and he followed behind Yonatan as the physician swooped toward the rows of colorful stalls and the dark people manning them.
Amiti took his satchel from the back of the donkey and shouldered it, still glancing around. This was what they’d come for?
It wasn’t terribly often that he got out of Damascus but a recent trip to Israel had afforded him not only a way out of his home city, but extended that even further to out of the country of Judea completely. He’d so rarely been out of Judea to Egypt, and it had been years since he’d traveled with his cousin. His cousin was a physician in for the city of Israel but every so often Yonatan wanted to try different herbs that he’d heard about from caravans. With a certain illness threatening to spread, Yonatan had wanted to leave to meet one of the Bedoan tribes immediately. They were known to come to the border of Egypt to trade during this season and Yonatan was going to attempt to catch them.
Amiti had jumped at the chance to go. Off the two men went on the backs of donkeys, across Judea, across Egypt, until they’d reached the border. The whole experience had been both incredible and horrible. While he’d thought he would enjoy traveling, he had decided that he didn’t want to do it at such a breakneck pace. The inns they’d slept in were hit and miss as far as accommodations and food. The worst, absolute worst part, was that while Yonatan was a wonderful person, he snored. Loudly. It was like being inside a vibrating drum and Amiti had to lay there, listening to it, all night.
Once they finally reached the little market, Amiti slid off his donkey’s back and looked around, his hand still on the animal’s withers. This...was it? He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected but it had been more than this. He was used to the stone walls and ancient buildings of his people. Even the mud huts of the poorest Egyptians were better than what he was looking at. His mouth tightened and he followed behind Yonatan as the physician swooped toward the rows of colorful stalls and the dark people manning them.
Amiti took his satchel from the back of the donkey and shouldered it, still glancing around. This was what they’d come for?
Hasani had quickly found himself in a conversation with one of his kin. The two of them snickered quiet jokes at each other in their own language, Hasani's tone enough to make the woman at the stall laugh so hard that she had to sit down a moment. The handsome smirk on his features never left and amusement had settled deeply in his eyes.
"I swear to you, Ami," Hasani was chuckling, "It was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. The goat just," he mad a motion with his hand to simulate running, "right into Issa's tent."
Ami was giggling wildly, shaking her head and pushing herself back to her feet and brushing sand off of her legs. "How did he get it out?"
"He slept by a fire for two days until Bisa went in there herself to fetch it. Then she yelled at him for not telling anyone that one of the livestock had escaped," Hasani was grinning, "She made him do women's chores for seven days as punishment for not being brave enough to face a tiny little goat," he snickered. As he spoke, his dark gaze was drawn through the market once more, surveying known and unknown traders. Some they dealt with consistently and some were entirely new to him.
He paused at the sight of Yonatan, a Judean physician who Hasani had dealt with in the past for various herbs and remedies. Lifting an eyebrow, he gave a kind smile toward Ami before stepping away from the stall in the direction of Yonatan. "Yonatan!" Hasani called, dredging up the very tiny bit of hebrew that he had learned in the years of trading with the stray Judeans that sometimes found their way into the border trade. "What brings you to border?" he frowned, quite sure that he missed a few words in his greeting as he approached the two Judeans.
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Hasani had quickly found himself in a conversation with one of his kin. The two of them snickered quiet jokes at each other in their own language, Hasani's tone enough to make the woman at the stall laugh so hard that she had to sit down a moment. The handsome smirk on his features never left and amusement had settled deeply in his eyes.
"I swear to you, Ami," Hasani was chuckling, "It was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. The goat just," he mad a motion with his hand to simulate running, "right into Issa's tent."
Ami was giggling wildly, shaking her head and pushing herself back to her feet and brushing sand off of her legs. "How did he get it out?"
"He slept by a fire for two days until Bisa went in there herself to fetch it. Then she yelled at him for not telling anyone that one of the livestock had escaped," Hasani was grinning, "She made him do women's chores for seven days as punishment for not being brave enough to face a tiny little goat," he snickered. As he spoke, his dark gaze was drawn through the market once more, surveying known and unknown traders. Some they dealt with consistently and some were entirely new to him.
He paused at the sight of Yonatan, a Judean physician who Hasani had dealt with in the past for various herbs and remedies. Lifting an eyebrow, he gave a kind smile toward Ami before stepping away from the stall in the direction of Yonatan. "Yonatan!" Hasani called, dredging up the very tiny bit of hebrew that he had learned in the years of trading with the stray Judeans that sometimes found their way into the border trade. "What brings you to border?" he frowned, quite sure that he missed a few words in his greeting as he approached the two Judeans.
Hasani had quickly found himself in a conversation with one of his kin. The two of them snickered quiet jokes at each other in their own language, Hasani's tone enough to make the woman at the stall laugh so hard that she had to sit down a moment. The handsome smirk on his features never left and amusement had settled deeply in his eyes.
"I swear to you, Ami," Hasani was chuckling, "It was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. The goat just," he mad a motion with his hand to simulate running, "right into Issa's tent."
Ami was giggling wildly, shaking her head and pushing herself back to her feet and brushing sand off of her legs. "How did he get it out?"
"He slept by a fire for two days until Bisa went in there herself to fetch it. Then she yelled at him for not telling anyone that one of the livestock had escaped," Hasani was grinning, "She made him do women's chores for seven days as punishment for not being brave enough to face a tiny little goat," he snickered. As he spoke, his dark gaze was drawn through the market once more, surveying known and unknown traders. Some they dealt with consistently and some were entirely new to him.
He paused at the sight of Yonatan, a Judean physician who Hasani had dealt with in the past for various herbs and remedies. Lifting an eyebrow, he gave a kind smile toward Ami before stepping away from the stall in the direction of Yonatan. "Yonatan!" Hasani called, dredging up the very tiny bit of hebrew that he had learned in the years of trading with the stray Judeans that sometimes found their way into the border trade. "What brings you to border?" he frowned, quite sure that he missed a few words in his greeting as he approached the two Judeans.
Amiti walked with his hands clasping the strap of his satchel and his head swiveling this way and that. Each new sight was bringing in more information than he could process. The smells of the meats roasting on spits over open fires, ready to be sold, the brightly dyed, woven fabrics, the bleats and grunts of animals in stalls. He did not speak the language of the desert peoples, nor was his Egyptian very good. It was...passable, though had grown a little on their travels.
He was relieved and annoyed, though, when Hasani called out to his cousin in hebrew. Relieved because, right at first, he’d assumed that he’d be able to have a proper conversation with someone. Annoyed because there were indeed words missing and the accent was terribly thick, rendering the Bedoan hard to understand.
Yonatan smiled, raised his hand, and walked toward Hasani, embracing him and pulling back to try, in Hasani’s native tongue, which he was not good at, how the man’s wives fared and if he’d been blessed with sons yet. Amiti understood none of this. He squinted around, blinked, wiped his brow.
“I thought we were here for medicine?” he said presently.
“We are!” Yonatan then turned to Hasani and opened an arm to Amiti. “This is my cousin,” he said in hebrew because they’d reached the end of his Bedoan words. “Amiti. Amiti, this is the man who brings life saving medicine. I think his wife makes it? Or...maybe he does. I’ve never been clear on that.”
“Oh?” Amiti was interested and stepped up to Hasani. “You make the medicine? How do you go about doing that?” He was curious as to what plants the Bedoans found in the desert.
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Amiti walked with his hands clasping the strap of his satchel and his head swiveling this way and that. Each new sight was bringing in more information than he could process. The smells of the meats roasting on spits over open fires, ready to be sold, the brightly dyed, woven fabrics, the bleats and grunts of animals in stalls. He did not speak the language of the desert peoples, nor was his Egyptian very good. It was...passable, though had grown a little on their travels.
He was relieved and annoyed, though, when Hasani called out to his cousin in hebrew. Relieved because, right at first, he’d assumed that he’d be able to have a proper conversation with someone. Annoyed because there were indeed words missing and the accent was terribly thick, rendering the Bedoan hard to understand.
Yonatan smiled, raised his hand, and walked toward Hasani, embracing him and pulling back to try, in Hasani’s native tongue, which he was not good at, how the man’s wives fared and if he’d been blessed with sons yet. Amiti understood none of this. He squinted around, blinked, wiped his brow.
“I thought we were here for medicine?” he said presently.
“We are!” Yonatan then turned to Hasani and opened an arm to Amiti. “This is my cousin,” he said in hebrew because they’d reached the end of his Bedoan words. “Amiti. Amiti, this is the man who brings life saving medicine. I think his wife makes it? Or...maybe he does. I’ve never been clear on that.”
“Oh?” Amiti was interested and stepped up to Hasani. “You make the medicine? How do you go about doing that?” He was curious as to what plants the Bedoans found in the desert.
Amiti walked with his hands clasping the strap of his satchel and his head swiveling this way and that. Each new sight was bringing in more information than he could process. The smells of the meats roasting on spits over open fires, ready to be sold, the brightly dyed, woven fabrics, the bleats and grunts of animals in stalls. He did not speak the language of the desert peoples, nor was his Egyptian very good. It was...passable, though had grown a little on their travels.
He was relieved and annoyed, though, when Hasani called out to his cousin in hebrew. Relieved because, right at first, he’d assumed that he’d be able to have a proper conversation with someone. Annoyed because there were indeed words missing and the accent was terribly thick, rendering the Bedoan hard to understand.
Yonatan smiled, raised his hand, and walked toward Hasani, embracing him and pulling back to try, in Hasani’s native tongue, which he was not good at, how the man’s wives fared and if he’d been blessed with sons yet. Amiti understood none of this. He squinted around, blinked, wiped his brow.
“I thought we were here for medicine?” he said presently.
“We are!” Yonatan then turned to Hasani and opened an arm to Amiti. “This is my cousin,” he said in hebrew because they’d reached the end of his Bedoan words. “Amiti. Amiti, this is the man who brings life saving medicine. I think his wife makes it? Or...maybe he does. I’ve never been clear on that.”
“Oh?” Amiti was interested and stepped up to Hasani. “You make the medicine? How do you go about doing that?” He was curious as to what plants the Bedoans found in the desert.
Hasani was more than happy to embrace his old friend, giving a warm chuckle and then pulling back, both of his hands resting on the man's shoulders. He looked Yonatan up and down twice, seeming to nod to himself, clearly pleased that the man was in one piece. Then, glancing toward Amiti, the man gave another brilliantly bright smile.
Hasani caught the word 'cousin', but didn't respond right away, glancing around the market for both Tanishe and Neena. Because Yonatan had asked about the two women. Turning the Judean around to face the direction of Tanishe and then Neena, he gave slow nods of affirmation that they were very well. Then he pulled his hands away, his brows furrowed at the next question about children.
"No sons," Hasani said simply, tapping his chin and giving a shrug, "Ancestors do not will it," the words were short and clipped as Hasani navigated the little bit of hebrew that he did know. While Yonatan was not the only Judean he had met, he was certainly one of the most prominent in the leier's memory.
Eyeing Amiti with an easygoing smirk, the bedoan leier crossed his arms over his chest, his dark gaze boring into the new man. He seemed to absorb the questions that Amiti asked and lifted an eyebrow slowly as if trying to remember the hebrew words. For a single moment, Hasani tried to spot his second wife but she was gone. Oh well, he would have to fumble his way through the little bits of the language he did know.
Clearing his throat, Hasani chewed absently on the inside of his cheek before gathering his words. "Herbs," Hasani said, motioning to his tribe about them who were selling various excess herbs to interested customers. "Trade," was all he got out, his jovial expression never leaving his face. He didn't know much of anything else that Amiti asked him, but he attempted to make it as clear as possible.
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Hasani was more than happy to embrace his old friend, giving a warm chuckle and then pulling back, both of his hands resting on the man's shoulders. He looked Yonatan up and down twice, seeming to nod to himself, clearly pleased that the man was in one piece. Then, glancing toward Amiti, the man gave another brilliantly bright smile.
Hasani caught the word 'cousin', but didn't respond right away, glancing around the market for both Tanishe and Neena. Because Yonatan had asked about the two women. Turning the Judean around to face the direction of Tanishe and then Neena, he gave slow nods of affirmation that they were very well. Then he pulled his hands away, his brows furrowed at the next question about children.
"No sons," Hasani said simply, tapping his chin and giving a shrug, "Ancestors do not will it," the words were short and clipped as Hasani navigated the little bit of hebrew that he did know. While Yonatan was not the only Judean he had met, he was certainly one of the most prominent in the leier's memory.
Eyeing Amiti with an easygoing smirk, the bedoan leier crossed his arms over his chest, his dark gaze boring into the new man. He seemed to absorb the questions that Amiti asked and lifted an eyebrow slowly as if trying to remember the hebrew words. For a single moment, Hasani tried to spot his second wife but she was gone. Oh well, he would have to fumble his way through the little bits of the language he did know.
Clearing his throat, Hasani chewed absently on the inside of his cheek before gathering his words. "Herbs," Hasani said, motioning to his tribe about them who were selling various excess herbs to interested customers. "Trade," was all he got out, his jovial expression never leaving his face. He didn't know much of anything else that Amiti asked him, but he attempted to make it as clear as possible.
Hasani was more than happy to embrace his old friend, giving a warm chuckle and then pulling back, both of his hands resting on the man's shoulders. He looked Yonatan up and down twice, seeming to nod to himself, clearly pleased that the man was in one piece. Then, glancing toward Amiti, the man gave another brilliantly bright smile.
Hasani caught the word 'cousin', but didn't respond right away, glancing around the market for both Tanishe and Neena. Because Yonatan had asked about the two women. Turning the Judean around to face the direction of Tanishe and then Neena, he gave slow nods of affirmation that they were very well. Then he pulled his hands away, his brows furrowed at the next question about children.
"No sons," Hasani said simply, tapping his chin and giving a shrug, "Ancestors do not will it," the words were short and clipped as Hasani navigated the little bit of hebrew that he did know. While Yonatan was not the only Judean he had met, he was certainly one of the most prominent in the leier's memory.
Eyeing Amiti with an easygoing smirk, the bedoan leier crossed his arms over his chest, his dark gaze boring into the new man. He seemed to absorb the questions that Amiti asked and lifted an eyebrow slowly as if trying to remember the hebrew words. For a single moment, Hasani tried to spot his second wife but she was gone. Oh well, he would have to fumble his way through the little bits of the language he did know.
Clearing his throat, Hasani chewed absently on the inside of his cheek before gathering his words. "Herbs," Hasani said, motioning to his tribe about them who were selling various excess herbs to interested customers. "Trade," was all he got out, his jovial expression never leaving his face. He didn't know much of anything else that Amiti asked him, but he attempted to make it as clear as possible.
Yonatan nodded and was about to ask about more herbs but Amiti had beat him to the punch and Hasani seemed intent on answer the question. For Amiti’s part, he was listening to the exchange and then attempting to understand what Hasani was saying. He narrowed his eyes, twisted his mouth to one side, pursing his lips at the same time, and tried. Honest to God, he tried. But it was all very difficult to get out the information he sought. However, Hasani seemed to be trying too. He looked around like he expected someone else to come up but when they didn’t, he simply said the words ‘herbs’ and ‘trade’.
“Right,” Amiti nodded. He cupped his hands together to form an open circle and stepped a little closer to Hasani. “Yes, I know herbs but how do you get them?” Glancing to Yonatan, he then spoke in a louder voice than before, and that had already been louder than he needed to for Hasani to hear. He just felt that if he spoke slower, clearer, louder, that somehow Hasani would understand.
“When you go through the desert,” he pantomimed walking with his fingers. “The d-e-s-e-r-t. Yes, where do you find plants?” Yonatan sighed through his nose.
“I’m going to go buy some. You stay here, yeah?” the man walked off, leaving Amiti and Hasani alone. Amiti was unfazed. He wanted an answer. After all, wasn’t the desert just a bunch of rocks and sand dunes? Of course, he’d never traveled all that much but he knew that the wilderness outside his own city did not permit much plant life to flourish and what did grow was scrubby and hardy.
“Do you go through an oasis? Are there many oases? How do you feed yourselves?” His voice was loud enough to attract the attention from a few stall vendors around them who all looked at each other. Some found it funny. Some found it rude. Some were just confused.
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Yonatan nodded and was about to ask about more herbs but Amiti had beat him to the punch and Hasani seemed intent on answer the question. For Amiti’s part, he was listening to the exchange and then attempting to understand what Hasani was saying. He narrowed his eyes, twisted his mouth to one side, pursing his lips at the same time, and tried. Honest to God, he tried. But it was all very difficult to get out the information he sought. However, Hasani seemed to be trying too. He looked around like he expected someone else to come up but when they didn’t, he simply said the words ‘herbs’ and ‘trade’.
“Right,” Amiti nodded. He cupped his hands together to form an open circle and stepped a little closer to Hasani. “Yes, I know herbs but how do you get them?” Glancing to Yonatan, he then spoke in a louder voice than before, and that had already been louder than he needed to for Hasani to hear. He just felt that if he spoke slower, clearer, louder, that somehow Hasani would understand.
“When you go through the desert,” he pantomimed walking with his fingers. “The d-e-s-e-r-t. Yes, where do you find plants?” Yonatan sighed through his nose.
“I’m going to go buy some. You stay here, yeah?” the man walked off, leaving Amiti and Hasani alone. Amiti was unfazed. He wanted an answer. After all, wasn’t the desert just a bunch of rocks and sand dunes? Of course, he’d never traveled all that much but he knew that the wilderness outside his own city did not permit much plant life to flourish and what did grow was scrubby and hardy.
“Do you go through an oasis? Are there many oases? How do you feed yourselves?” His voice was loud enough to attract the attention from a few stall vendors around them who all looked at each other. Some found it funny. Some found it rude. Some were just confused.
Yonatan nodded and was about to ask about more herbs but Amiti had beat him to the punch and Hasani seemed intent on answer the question. For Amiti’s part, he was listening to the exchange and then attempting to understand what Hasani was saying. He narrowed his eyes, twisted his mouth to one side, pursing his lips at the same time, and tried. Honest to God, he tried. But it was all very difficult to get out the information he sought. However, Hasani seemed to be trying too. He looked around like he expected someone else to come up but when they didn’t, he simply said the words ‘herbs’ and ‘trade’.
“Right,” Amiti nodded. He cupped his hands together to form an open circle and stepped a little closer to Hasani. “Yes, I know herbs but how do you get them?” Glancing to Yonatan, he then spoke in a louder voice than before, and that had already been louder than he needed to for Hasani to hear. He just felt that if he spoke slower, clearer, louder, that somehow Hasani would understand.
“When you go through the desert,” he pantomimed walking with his fingers. “The d-e-s-e-r-t. Yes, where do you find plants?” Yonatan sighed through his nose.
“I’m going to go buy some. You stay here, yeah?” the man walked off, leaving Amiti and Hasani alone. Amiti was unfazed. He wanted an answer. After all, wasn’t the desert just a bunch of rocks and sand dunes? Of course, he’d never traveled all that much but he knew that the wilderness outside his own city did not permit much plant life to flourish and what did grow was scrubby and hardy.
“Do you go through an oasis? Are there many oases? How do you feed yourselves?” His voice was loud enough to attract the attention from a few stall vendors around them who all looked at each other. Some found it funny. Some found it rude. Some were just confused.
Hasani watched the tiny man with a very precariously lifted eyebrow. Keeping his arms crossed against his chest, the leier considered the man, trying to figure out exactly what he was asking him. While he spoke louder and more clearly, Hasani couldn't help but feel the slightest bit insulted at nearly being yelled at. When Yonatan left Hasani and Amiti together, the man almost called after him to take his scrawny cousin with him.
But that was not the way that Hasani liked to do anything in his life. He would struggle through it until he got the results that both men wanted. Lifting a large hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck, his dark eyes showing mirth and slight confusion as he tried his hardest to connect with what Amiti was saying.
It was the words 'desert' and 'oasis' that caught Hasani's attention toward the end and his eyes went wide. Nodding quickly, he dropped his arms to his sides, thinking of the way that Amiti had mimed a motion for walking. "Oasis, yes!" Hasani clapped both his hands together once and nodded his head. "Herbs from oasis. Zaire cut and leave to grow. Tender and sensitive," he was trying his hardest. His absolute hardest. His hebrew was choppy at best and he silently cursed himself for not asking Neena how much hebrew she knew. She could have actually helped him in this situation.
Especially since the Judean seemed incredibly interested in how the tribe gathered their herbs. It was then that Hasani took the moment to motion Amiti to follow him to one of the 'stalls' that the Zaire had set up.
Ami was smiling up at them from the ground, her legs crossed in front of her. "Leier," she greeted, dipping her head in greeting to both Hasani and Amiti.
Turning toward Amiti, "Amiti, Ami," he motioned between them in a quick introduction and then picked up a small bundle of desert herbs that had been laid out. "From oasis," Hasani murmured to Amiti, "Deep in desert."
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Hasani watched the tiny man with a very precariously lifted eyebrow. Keeping his arms crossed against his chest, the leier considered the man, trying to figure out exactly what he was asking him. While he spoke louder and more clearly, Hasani couldn't help but feel the slightest bit insulted at nearly being yelled at. When Yonatan left Hasani and Amiti together, the man almost called after him to take his scrawny cousin with him.
But that was not the way that Hasani liked to do anything in his life. He would struggle through it until he got the results that both men wanted. Lifting a large hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck, his dark eyes showing mirth and slight confusion as he tried his hardest to connect with what Amiti was saying.
It was the words 'desert' and 'oasis' that caught Hasani's attention toward the end and his eyes went wide. Nodding quickly, he dropped his arms to his sides, thinking of the way that Amiti had mimed a motion for walking. "Oasis, yes!" Hasani clapped both his hands together once and nodded his head. "Herbs from oasis. Zaire cut and leave to grow. Tender and sensitive," he was trying his hardest. His absolute hardest. His hebrew was choppy at best and he silently cursed himself for not asking Neena how much hebrew she knew. She could have actually helped him in this situation.
Especially since the Judean seemed incredibly interested in how the tribe gathered their herbs. It was then that Hasani took the moment to motion Amiti to follow him to one of the 'stalls' that the Zaire had set up.
Ami was smiling up at them from the ground, her legs crossed in front of her. "Leier," she greeted, dipping her head in greeting to both Hasani and Amiti.
Turning toward Amiti, "Amiti, Ami," he motioned between them in a quick introduction and then picked up a small bundle of desert herbs that had been laid out. "From oasis," Hasani murmured to Amiti, "Deep in desert."
Hasani watched the tiny man with a very precariously lifted eyebrow. Keeping his arms crossed against his chest, the leier considered the man, trying to figure out exactly what he was asking him. While he spoke louder and more clearly, Hasani couldn't help but feel the slightest bit insulted at nearly being yelled at. When Yonatan left Hasani and Amiti together, the man almost called after him to take his scrawny cousin with him.
But that was not the way that Hasani liked to do anything in his life. He would struggle through it until he got the results that both men wanted. Lifting a large hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck, his dark eyes showing mirth and slight confusion as he tried his hardest to connect with what Amiti was saying.
It was the words 'desert' and 'oasis' that caught Hasani's attention toward the end and his eyes went wide. Nodding quickly, he dropped his arms to his sides, thinking of the way that Amiti had mimed a motion for walking. "Oasis, yes!" Hasani clapped both his hands together once and nodded his head. "Herbs from oasis. Zaire cut and leave to grow. Tender and sensitive," he was trying his hardest. His absolute hardest. His hebrew was choppy at best and he silently cursed himself for not asking Neena how much hebrew she knew. She could have actually helped him in this situation.
Especially since the Judean seemed incredibly interested in how the tribe gathered their herbs. It was then that Hasani took the moment to motion Amiti to follow him to one of the 'stalls' that the Zaire had set up.
Ami was smiling up at them from the ground, her legs crossed in front of her. "Leier," she greeted, dipping her head in greeting to both Hasani and Amiti.
Turning toward Amiti, "Amiti, Ami," he motioned between them in a quick introduction and then picked up a small bundle of desert herbs that had been laid out. "From oasis," Hasani murmured to Amiti, "Deep in desert."
The look of indulgent confusion on Hasani’s face didn’t bode well. He was at a loss as to how to make this man understand him if practically shouting wasn’t going to work. If he lived closer to the bedoan tribes, or ever planned on interacting with them again, he’d have endeavored to learn a bit of Hasani’s language so that future communications wouldn’t have this problem. Damascus was so far away and the Bedoans never traveled across Egypt, that bothering to learn the tribe’s language was a waste of time. He’d be better served to brush up on his Greek and Koptic, rather than finagle with this. That didn’t stop him from being interested in it, however.
“What’s tender and sensitive?” he was now very confused. His face had lit up at the word oasis but then he didn’t understand what Hasani had said afterwards. He’d assumed the man had meant they cut the plants but then why would they leave them to grow after they’d cut them? That didn’t make sense but he was kinda starting to figure out something, but coupled with the tender and sensitive, he was lost.
“You don’t have a rash, do you?” He drew back and looked at Hasani with a bit of suspicion. Suddenly he found himself being swept away towards someone he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to meet and was confused why the conversation had taken this turn. Plus, the rash thing had not been settled. However, he didn’t want to be too rude, and so nodded at Ami while still gripping his bag. At last, though, once the herbs were there, he sort of understood.
“Right. You gather the herbs.” That much he knew.
“I guess I was trying to figure out how things grow in the desert at all but it’s one of Yaweh’s miracles, I guess,” he looked down at the herbs.
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The look of indulgent confusion on Hasani’s face didn’t bode well. He was at a loss as to how to make this man understand him if practically shouting wasn’t going to work. If he lived closer to the bedoan tribes, or ever planned on interacting with them again, he’d have endeavored to learn a bit of Hasani’s language so that future communications wouldn’t have this problem. Damascus was so far away and the Bedoans never traveled across Egypt, that bothering to learn the tribe’s language was a waste of time. He’d be better served to brush up on his Greek and Koptic, rather than finagle with this. That didn’t stop him from being interested in it, however.
“What’s tender and sensitive?” he was now very confused. His face had lit up at the word oasis but then he didn’t understand what Hasani had said afterwards. He’d assumed the man had meant they cut the plants but then why would they leave them to grow after they’d cut them? That didn’t make sense but he was kinda starting to figure out something, but coupled with the tender and sensitive, he was lost.
“You don’t have a rash, do you?” He drew back and looked at Hasani with a bit of suspicion. Suddenly he found himself being swept away towards someone he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to meet and was confused why the conversation had taken this turn. Plus, the rash thing had not been settled. However, he didn’t want to be too rude, and so nodded at Ami while still gripping his bag. At last, though, once the herbs were there, he sort of understood.
“Right. You gather the herbs.” That much he knew.
“I guess I was trying to figure out how things grow in the desert at all but it’s one of Yaweh’s miracles, I guess,” he looked down at the herbs.
The look of indulgent confusion on Hasani’s face didn’t bode well. He was at a loss as to how to make this man understand him if practically shouting wasn’t going to work. If he lived closer to the bedoan tribes, or ever planned on interacting with them again, he’d have endeavored to learn a bit of Hasani’s language so that future communications wouldn’t have this problem. Damascus was so far away and the Bedoans never traveled across Egypt, that bothering to learn the tribe’s language was a waste of time. He’d be better served to brush up on his Greek and Koptic, rather than finagle with this. That didn’t stop him from being interested in it, however.
“What’s tender and sensitive?” he was now very confused. His face had lit up at the word oasis but then he didn’t understand what Hasani had said afterwards. He’d assumed the man had meant they cut the plants but then why would they leave them to grow after they’d cut them? That didn’t make sense but he was kinda starting to figure out something, but coupled with the tender and sensitive, he was lost.
“You don’t have a rash, do you?” He drew back and looked at Hasani with a bit of suspicion. Suddenly he found himself being swept away towards someone he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to meet and was confused why the conversation had taken this turn. Plus, the rash thing had not been settled. However, he didn’t want to be too rude, and so nodded at Ami while still gripping his bag. At last, though, once the herbs were there, he sort of understood.
“Right. You gather the herbs.” That much he knew.
“I guess I was trying to figure out how things grow in the desert at all but it’s one of Yaweh’s miracles, I guess,” he looked down at the herbs.
Hasani caught the word 'rash' so fast that he actually had to stop and look at the Judean like he wasn't sure if the guy was... sane. Who was bringing the mentally handicapped Judeans into the market? Who was this man who asked so many questions that were so hard for Hasani to answer in hebrew? Frowning deeply at Amiti, he actually reached forward and put a big hand against the man's forehead.
"Amiti feel okay?" he asked easily, thinking that Amiti was talking about he himself having a rash. Not Hasani. Turning his attention to the female healer at the stall they now stood before, "Quickly, Ami. The herbs we use for rashes. I think this man is in need," he said in his mother tongue, glancing at Amiti over and over again as the little Ami quickly sorted through her herbs, producing a small pouch that she had quickly stuffed.
"For rash," Hasani noted easily, offering him the pouch. Then he thought through his next hebrew words. He couldn't think of what he needed to say so he made a grinding motion as if using a mortar and pestel. "Water in," he said easily. Then a scooping motion as if picking out a paste and rubbing it on skin. Then he nodded like he was completely happy with is explaination and glanced about. It was his goal in life to help people and he could not accept payment from this scruffy Judean man who clearly needed help.
It didn't matter that Hasani hardly understood him, the impression he got was a nervous need for healing. Amiti didn't need to worry. Hasani wasn't going to tell his cousin. He was safe. His rash was safe. his rash would be healed, even! Everything would be fine! Wonderful and fine!
"No trade," Hasani finally waved Amiti off, "have."
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Hasani caught the word 'rash' so fast that he actually had to stop and look at the Judean like he wasn't sure if the guy was... sane. Who was bringing the mentally handicapped Judeans into the market? Who was this man who asked so many questions that were so hard for Hasani to answer in hebrew? Frowning deeply at Amiti, he actually reached forward and put a big hand against the man's forehead.
"Amiti feel okay?" he asked easily, thinking that Amiti was talking about he himself having a rash. Not Hasani. Turning his attention to the female healer at the stall they now stood before, "Quickly, Ami. The herbs we use for rashes. I think this man is in need," he said in his mother tongue, glancing at Amiti over and over again as the little Ami quickly sorted through her herbs, producing a small pouch that she had quickly stuffed.
"For rash," Hasani noted easily, offering him the pouch. Then he thought through his next hebrew words. He couldn't think of what he needed to say so he made a grinding motion as if using a mortar and pestel. "Water in," he said easily. Then a scooping motion as if picking out a paste and rubbing it on skin. Then he nodded like he was completely happy with is explaination and glanced about. It was his goal in life to help people and he could not accept payment from this scruffy Judean man who clearly needed help.
It didn't matter that Hasani hardly understood him, the impression he got was a nervous need for healing. Amiti didn't need to worry. Hasani wasn't going to tell his cousin. He was safe. His rash was safe. his rash would be healed, even! Everything would be fine! Wonderful and fine!
"No trade," Hasani finally waved Amiti off, "have."
Hasani caught the word 'rash' so fast that he actually had to stop and look at the Judean like he wasn't sure if the guy was... sane. Who was bringing the mentally handicapped Judeans into the market? Who was this man who asked so many questions that were so hard for Hasani to answer in hebrew? Frowning deeply at Amiti, he actually reached forward and put a big hand against the man's forehead.
"Amiti feel okay?" he asked easily, thinking that Amiti was talking about he himself having a rash. Not Hasani. Turning his attention to the female healer at the stall they now stood before, "Quickly, Ami. The herbs we use for rashes. I think this man is in need," he said in his mother tongue, glancing at Amiti over and over again as the little Ami quickly sorted through her herbs, producing a small pouch that she had quickly stuffed.
"For rash," Hasani noted easily, offering him the pouch. Then he thought through his next hebrew words. He couldn't think of what he needed to say so he made a grinding motion as if using a mortar and pestel. "Water in," he said easily. Then a scooping motion as if picking out a paste and rubbing it on skin. Then he nodded like he was completely happy with is explaination and glanced about. It was his goal in life to help people and he could not accept payment from this scruffy Judean man who clearly needed help.
It didn't matter that Hasani hardly understood him, the impression he got was a nervous need for healing. Amiti didn't need to worry. Hasani wasn't going to tell his cousin. He was safe. His rash was safe. his rash would be healed, even! Everything would be fine! Wonderful and fine!
"No trade," Hasani finally waved Amiti off, "have."
Amiti was not used to being touched. He didn’t quite know what to do when Hasani’s hand came to rest against his forehead. His body locked up and he stood there, rigid, staring at the dark man with huge eyes and a concerned, lost expression matching Hasani’s own. Then his mouth formed a grimace with his teeth visible and corners of his lips turned down. His eyebrows drew together and he wondered if it would be too terribly rude to step away or if he’d just have to endure whatever the heck was happening to him at this moment.
“Yes, Amiti feel ok,” he said through gritted teeth, trying for a civil tone. His head was craned so far back that his neck hurt. Where was Yonatan? Hasani then was speaking to the other woman and Amiti took the opportunity to step gingerly back to put space between them again. He clutched the strap of his bag in a white knuckled grip, extremely concerned about what was going to happen next.
When Hasani turned and offered him a pouch, saying it was for a rash, Amiti stared down at it. His mouth was open to tell the other man that there had been some mistake. “I-what? You think I?” He was aghast. “Rash!” This was horrible. “I would not tell you if I had a rash! You’re not a doctor! ...I dont’ know. Maybe you are a doctor, but-” he was looking around now and pushing on Hasani’s hands to hide the pouch away from prying eyes. He got close.
“Listen. I do not have a rash. You have a rash. You said so. Stop trying to embarrass me.” They were practically body to body at this point with Amiti staring around and trying to make sure that no one was looking or seeing any of this nonsense. “I don’t need to trade. There’s a rash going around and you need to be careful who you accuse of having it.” He was attempting to keep his voice very low so that he could spare Hasani this sort of situation.
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Amiti was not used to being touched. He didn’t quite know what to do when Hasani’s hand came to rest against his forehead. His body locked up and he stood there, rigid, staring at the dark man with huge eyes and a concerned, lost expression matching Hasani’s own. Then his mouth formed a grimace with his teeth visible and corners of his lips turned down. His eyebrows drew together and he wondered if it would be too terribly rude to step away or if he’d just have to endure whatever the heck was happening to him at this moment.
“Yes, Amiti feel ok,” he said through gritted teeth, trying for a civil tone. His head was craned so far back that his neck hurt. Where was Yonatan? Hasani then was speaking to the other woman and Amiti took the opportunity to step gingerly back to put space between them again. He clutched the strap of his bag in a white knuckled grip, extremely concerned about what was going to happen next.
When Hasani turned and offered him a pouch, saying it was for a rash, Amiti stared down at it. His mouth was open to tell the other man that there had been some mistake. “I-what? You think I?” He was aghast. “Rash!” This was horrible. “I would not tell you if I had a rash! You’re not a doctor! ...I dont’ know. Maybe you are a doctor, but-” he was looking around now and pushing on Hasani’s hands to hide the pouch away from prying eyes. He got close.
“Listen. I do not have a rash. You have a rash. You said so. Stop trying to embarrass me.” They were practically body to body at this point with Amiti staring around and trying to make sure that no one was looking or seeing any of this nonsense. “I don’t need to trade. There’s a rash going around and you need to be careful who you accuse of having it.” He was attempting to keep his voice very low so that he could spare Hasani this sort of situation.
Amiti was not used to being touched. He didn’t quite know what to do when Hasani’s hand came to rest against his forehead. His body locked up and he stood there, rigid, staring at the dark man with huge eyes and a concerned, lost expression matching Hasani’s own. Then his mouth formed a grimace with his teeth visible and corners of his lips turned down. His eyebrows drew together and he wondered if it would be too terribly rude to step away or if he’d just have to endure whatever the heck was happening to him at this moment.
“Yes, Amiti feel ok,” he said through gritted teeth, trying for a civil tone. His head was craned so far back that his neck hurt. Where was Yonatan? Hasani then was speaking to the other woman and Amiti took the opportunity to step gingerly back to put space between them again. He clutched the strap of his bag in a white knuckled grip, extremely concerned about what was going to happen next.
When Hasani turned and offered him a pouch, saying it was for a rash, Amiti stared down at it. His mouth was open to tell the other man that there had been some mistake. “I-what? You think I?” He was aghast. “Rash!” This was horrible. “I would not tell you if I had a rash! You’re not a doctor! ...I dont’ know. Maybe you are a doctor, but-” he was looking around now and pushing on Hasani’s hands to hide the pouch away from prying eyes. He got close.
“Listen. I do not have a rash. You have a rash. You said so. Stop trying to embarrass me.” They were practically body to body at this point with Amiti staring around and trying to make sure that no one was looking or seeing any of this nonsense. “I don’t need to trade. There’s a rash going around and you need to be careful who you accuse of having it.” He was attempting to keep his voice very low so that he could spare Hasani this sort of situation.
It was this moment that Hasani and Ami both looked at each other. They seemed to talk between each other rather quickly, bickering about nothing in particular in their own language while glancing back at Amiti from time to time. When they both had tried to work out what Amiti was suddenly angry about, Hasani straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest.
The jovial expression on his features did not leave and he shook his head. "No rash in tribe, Amiti," Hasani said easily. It had been easy enough to figure out. It wasn't actually embarrassment that Amiti was showing. It was frustration because they were not able to communicate properly. Something that clearly been lost in translation and it was not like Hasani to make enemies for something so silly as herbs and a rash.
So he decided to try again. "I am sorry," he added easily, his dark eyes bright regardless of their color. "Hebrew not good," he admitted, turning back to the stall and motioning Amiti over to stand in front of it. If they were going to be on the same page, Hasani was seriously curious about what the man had wanted to know about the herbs.
The border trades were not just about trading goods. Hasani had often found that they were a wonderful way to trade knowledge and learning. Some of what the Bedoans had learned had been learned in these moments of peace between the two Kingdoms. Some of what the Egyptians learned had been due in part to the learning that the Bedoans brought from their expansive desert home.
Seeming to think through things for a moment, Hasani lifted his hand as if he had gathered his thoughts. Thinking for the word, he made a motion with his hand. A wide, sweeping things. "Motion," he told Amiti, "Show," he added, wanting Amiti to show him, again, what he wanted to know about herbs, hopefully with some help now that he had a stall of visual aids to help him make his points. The leier handed his pouch of herbs back to Ami and she leaned down to put them in the correct basket to sell to someone else later.
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It was this moment that Hasani and Ami both looked at each other. They seemed to talk between each other rather quickly, bickering about nothing in particular in their own language while glancing back at Amiti from time to time. When they both had tried to work out what Amiti was suddenly angry about, Hasani straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest.
The jovial expression on his features did not leave and he shook his head. "No rash in tribe, Amiti," Hasani said easily. It had been easy enough to figure out. It wasn't actually embarrassment that Amiti was showing. It was frustration because they were not able to communicate properly. Something that clearly been lost in translation and it was not like Hasani to make enemies for something so silly as herbs and a rash.
So he decided to try again. "I am sorry," he added easily, his dark eyes bright regardless of their color. "Hebrew not good," he admitted, turning back to the stall and motioning Amiti over to stand in front of it. If they were going to be on the same page, Hasani was seriously curious about what the man had wanted to know about the herbs.
The border trades were not just about trading goods. Hasani had often found that they were a wonderful way to trade knowledge and learning. Some of what the Bedoans had learned had been learned in these moments of peace between the two Kingdoms. Some of what the Egyptians learned had been due in part to the learning that the Bedoans brought from their expansive desert home.
Seeming to think through things for a moment, Hasani lifted his hand as if he had gathered his thoughts. Thinking for the word, he made a motion with his hand. A wide, sweeping things. "Motion," he told Amiti, "Show," he added, wanting Amiti to show him, again, what he wanted to know about herbs, hopefully with some help now that he had a stall of visual aids to help him make his points. The leier handed his pouch of herbs back to Ami and she leaned down to put them in the correct basket to sell to someone else later.
It was this moment that Hasani and Ami both looked at each other. They seemed to talk between each other rather quickly, bickering about nothing in particular in their own language while glancing back at Amiti from time to time. When they both had tried to work out what Amiti was suddenly angry about, Hasani straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest.
The jovial expression on his features did not leave and he shook his head. "No rash in tribe, Amiti," Hasani said easily. It had been easy enough to figure out. It wasn't actually embarrassment that Amiti was showing. It was frustration because they were not able to communicate properly. Something that clearly been lost in translation and it was not like Hasani to make enemies for something so silly as herbs and a rash.
So he decided to try again. "I am sorry," he added easily, his dark eyes bright regardless of their color. "Hebrew not good," he admitted, turning back to the stall and motioning Amiti over to stand in front of it. If they were going to be on the same page, Hasani was seriously curious about what the man had wanted to know about the herbs.
The border trades were not just about trading goods. Hasani had often found that they were a wonderful way to trade knowledge and learning. Some of what the Bedoans had learned had been learned in these moments of peace between the two Kingdoms. Some of what the Egyptians learned had been due in part to the learning that the Bedoans brought from their expansive desert home.
Seeming to think through things for a moment, Hasani lifted his hand as if he had gathered his thoughts. Thinking for the word, he made a motion with his hand. A wide, sweeping things. "Motion," he told Amiti, "Show," he added, wanting Amiti to show him, again, what he wanted to know about herbs, hopefully with some help now that he had a stall of visual aids to help him make his points. The leier handed his pouch of herbs back to Ami and she leaned down to put them in the correct basket to sell to someone else later.
Mwenye was bickering intently with another about the price of his yearling camel; the calf was old enough to be weaned, and the young man didn't need to feed and water another animal that couldn't be of real use for several more years. If he'd had a wife and family, or even (especially?) if he'd been planning to seek out a wife, he would have had another opinion, but as it was, he was happy to part with it - if he could wheedle a better-than-fair price out of the Egyptian, and he certainly wasn't going to take half of it in coin, either. Otherwise, the tribe could use another camel, even if he personally couldn't.
The buyer knew that he wasn't going to convince a bedoan to take coin, and despite the sharpness of the haggling session, neither was either desperate or angry. Unlike a conversation going on several stalls away; Mwenye looked over to see who was shouting at Hassani in Hebrew, and blew out his breath in a sharp huff seeing it wasn't anybody he recognized. Points for not being intimidated by the much bigger man, unless it was simple obliviousness. Hard to tell with some people.
He finally wrapped up his haggling session, both he and his buyer finally throwing their hands up in the air and conceding with a couple of good-natured insults about the other's stubbornness. Mwenye had conceded to take a portion of the price in coin, little enough he expected to be able to spend it all today, and the Egyptian had conceded to throw in the baskets and bags the smaller things Mwenye wanted had been stored in, and the use of a hand-cart long enough to haul the rugs and blankets back to his tent, rather than risking the drama that could result from him fetching his camel and and having her actually witness her foal being led off by a stranger. He lifted a basket of fruit onto his hip, and a satchel of tools, beads, and forged buckles across his shoulders, then paid a couple of the tribe's children with a pear to split between them to haul the rest of it back for him. He might not be particularly focused on increasing his wealth, and he hadn't been able to resist buying some sweets, but he always made sure most of his purchases were things that would keep value over the long term. He might not be rich, but he certainly had enough accumulated by now to make a decent showing of himself. Maybe he should keep the next foal.
At the moment, though, he decided that rescuing Hasani - or at least providing a bit of backup - would add a decent amount of excitement to his day. Not too much, since the Leier certainly wasn't going to get excited over a bit of shouting, or offended by something he thought merely a misunderstanding. Perhaps more accurately interest than excitement.
Mwenye peeled a pomegranate as he walked, a bit awkwardly since his left hand was also stabilizing the basket it had come out of. He glanced between the two men for a moment, then held out the red fruit to Hasani, silently offering to share a few of the glistening seeds within.
"You not speak Egyptian?" he asked the Judean curiously in that language. He guessed not, since Hasani had been trying to muddle his way through Hebrew, but nothing lost by asking.
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Mwenye was bickering intently with another about the price of his yearling camel; the calf was old enough to be weaned, and the young man didn't need to feed and water another animal that couldn't be of real use for several more years. If he'd had a wife and family, or even (especially?) if he'd been planning to seek out a wife, he would have had another opinion, but as it was, he was happy to part with it - if he could wheedle a better-than-fair price out of the Egyptian, and he certainly wasn't going to take half of it in coin, either. Otherwise, the tribe could use another camel, even if he personally couldn't.
The buyer knew that he wasn't going to convince a bedoan to take coin, and despite the sharpness of the haggling session, neither was either desperate or angry. Unlike a conversation going on several stalls away; Mwenye looked over to see who was shouting at Hassani in Hebrew, and blew out his breath in a sharp huff seeing it wasn't anybody he recognized. Points for not being intimidated by the much bigger man, unless it was simple obliviousness. Hard to tell with some people.
He finally wrapped up his haggling session, both he and his buyer finally throwing their hands up in the air and conceding with a couple of good-natured insults about the other's stubbornness. Mwenye had conceded to take a portion of the price in coin, little enough he expected to be able to spend it all today, and the Egyptian had conceded to throw in the baskets and bags the smaller things Mwenye wanted had been stored in, and the use of a hand-cart long enough to haul the rugs and blankets back to his tent, rather than risking the drama that could result from him fetching his camel and and having her actually witness her foal being led off by a stranger. He lifted a basket of fruit onto his hip, and a satchel of tools, beads, and forged buckles across his shoulders, then paid a couple of the tribe's children with a pear to split between them to haul the rest of it back for him. He might not be particularly focused on increasing his wealth, and he hadn't been able to resist buying some sweets, but he always made sure most of his purchases were things that would keep value over the long term. He might not be rich, but he certainly had enough accumulated by now to make a decent showing of himself. Maybe he should keep the next foal.
At the moment, though, he decided that rescuing Hasani - or at least providing a bit of backup - would add a decent amount of excitement to his day. Not too much, since the Leier certainly wasn't going to get excited over a bit of shouting, or offended by something he thought merely a misunderstanding. Perhaps more accurately interest than excitement.
Mwenye peeled a pomegranate as he walked, a bit awkwardly since his left hand was also stabilizing the basket it had come out of. He glanced between the two men for a moment, then held out the red fruit to Hasani, silently offering to share a few of the glistening seeds within.
"You not speak Egyptian?" he asked the Judean curiously in that language. He guessed not, since Hasani had been trying to muddle his way through Hebrew, but nothing lost by asking.
Mwenye was bickering intently with another about the price of his yearling camel; the calf was old enough to be weaned, and the young man didn't need to feed and water another animal that couldn't be of real use for several more years. If he'd had a wife and family, or even (especially?) if he'd been planning to seek out a wife, he would have had another opinion, but as it was, he was happy to part with it - if he could wheedle a better-than-fair price out of the Egyptian, and he certainly wasn't going to take half of it in coin, either. Otherwise, the tribe could use another camel, even if he personally couldn't.
The buyer knew that he wasn't going to convince a bedoan to take coin, and despite the sharpness of the haggling session, neither was either desperate or angry. Unlike a conversation going on several stalls away; Mwenye looked over to see who was shouting at Hassani in Hebrew, and blew out his breath in a sharp huff seeing it wasn't anybody he recognized. Points for not being intimidated by the much bigger man, unless it was simple obliviousness. Hard to tell with some people.
He finally wrapped up his haggling session, both he and his buyer finally throwing their hands up in the air and conceding with a couple of good-natured insults about the other's stubbornness. Mwenye had conceded to take a portion of the price in coin, little enough he expected to be able to spend it all today, and the Egyptian had conceded to throw in the baskets and bags the smaller things Mwenye wanted had been stored in, and the use of a hand-cart long enough to haul the rugs and blankets back to his tent, rather than risking the drama that could result from him fetching his camel and and having her actually witness her foal being led off by a stranger. He lifted a basket of fruit onto his hip, and a satchel of tools, beads, and forged buckles across his shoulders, then paid a couple of the tribe's children with a pear to split between them to haul the rest of it back for him. He might not be particularly focused on increasing his wealth, and he hadn't been able to resist buying some sweets, but he always made sure most of his purchases were things that would keep value over the long term. He might not be rich, but he certainly had enough accumulated by now to make a decent showing of himself. Maybe he should keep the next foal.
At the moment, though, he decided that rescuing Hasani - or at least providing a bit of backup - would add a decent amount of excitement to his day. Not too much, since the Leier certainly wasn't going to get excited over a bit of shouting, or offended by something he thought merely a misunderstanding. Perhaps more accurately interest than excitement.
Mwenye peeled a pomegranate as he walked, a bit awkwardly since his left hand was also stabilizing the basket it had come out of. He glanced between the two men for a moment, then held out the red fruit to Hasani, silently offering to share a few of the glistening seeds within.
"You not speak Egyptian?" he asked the Judean curiously in that language. He guessed not, since Hasani had been trying to muddle his way through Hebrew, but nothing lost by asking.
Amiti wasn’t as aware of how big Hasani was until the man actually touched him. He wasn’t sure if this had somehow escalated into a fight or if the Bedoan wanted something else? Or what was happening, but he didn’t want touched. Stiffening his shoulders, he resisted being placed in front of the stall but found himself there anyway. The sand under their feet bore his sandal marks as he was half dragged, half scuffled to where Hasani wanted him to stand. Once Hasani let go, he realized that the man was trying, in his own savage way, to get Amiti to understand something.
After that, the Judean relaxed a fraction. He worked his shoulders, pulled at his beard, adjusted the strap on his satchel again, and then looked down at what Hasani was gesturing to.
“I don’t care if there’s a rash in your tribe,” Amiti tried to explain this patiently but his patience was already threadbare. “I’m saying that I do not have a rash.” Gesturing to his whole body, he shook his head in an exaggerated way and repeated, “No rash.”
When Hasani said the words ‘motion’ and ‘show’, Amiti was now true and fully lost. Did he mean show him he didn’t have a rash? Probably. That must be it. Jerking up the sleeves of his robe so that his forearms were exposed, he gestured in a large way. “Noooo raaaaaaash,” he said slowly and did the same thing to the other arm. “See? Noooooo raaaaaaaaaaassh.”
If Hasani expected to see the rest of him, he was going to be disappointed. Amiti was not going to get half naked or even fully naked in this busy market. People were already looking at them strangely. He saw another man coming up to them, carrying a fruit basket and eating a pomegranate. Obviously things had gone from bad to worse and he was going to have to explain the whole rash thing over again.
But then, wonder of wonders, this man spoke Coptic! Amazing! It was heavily accented, of course, but a language they had in common! Finally.
“Yes!” he gestured emphatically with his hands. “I do! Tell Hasani I don’t have a rash!”
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Amiti wasn’t as aware of how big Hasani was until the man actually touched him. He wasn’t sure if this had somehow escalated into a fight or if the Bedoan wanted something else? Or what was happening, but he didn’t want touched. Stiffening his shoulders, he resisted being placed in front of the stall but found himself there anyway. The sand under their feet bore his sandal marks as he was half dragged, half scuffled to where Hasani wanted him to stand. Once Hasani let go, he realized that the man was trying, in his own savage way, to get Amiti to understand something.
After that, the Judean relaxed a fraction. He worked his shoulders, pulled at his beard, adjusted the strap on his satchel again, and then looked down at what Hasani was gesturing to.
“I don’t care if there’s a rash in your tribe,” Amiti tried to explain this patiently but his patience was already threadbare. “I’m saying that I do not have a rash.” Gesturing to his whole body, he shook his head in an exaggerated way and repeated, “No rash.”
When Hasani said the words ‘motion’ and ‘show’, Amiti was now true and fully lost. Did he mean show him he didn’t have a rash? Probably. That must be it. Jerking up the sleeves of his robe so that his forearms were exposed, he gestured in a large way. “Noooo raaaaaaash,” he said slowly and did the same thing to the other arm. “See? Noooooo raaaaaaaaaaassh.”
If Hasani expected to see the rest of him, he was going to be disappointed. Amiti was not going to get half naked or even fully naked in this busy market. People were already looking at them strangely. He saw another man coming up to them, carrying a fruit basket and eating a pomegranate. Obviously things had gone from bad to worse and he was going to have to explain the whole rash thing over again.
But then, wonder of wonders, this man spoke Coptic! Amazing! It was heavily accented, of course, but a language they had in common! Finally.
“Yes!” he gestured emphatically with his hands. “I do! Tell Hasani I don’t have a rash!”
Amiti wasn’t as aware of how big Hasani was until the man actually touched him. He wasn’t sure if this had somehow escalated into a fight or if the Bedoan wanted something else? Or what was happening, but he didn’t want touched. Stiffening his shoulders, he resisted being placed in front of the stall but found himself there anyway. The sand under their feet bore his sandal marks as he was half dragged, half scuffled to where Hasani wanted him to stand. Once Hasani let go, he realized that the man was trying, in his own savage way, to get Amiti to understand something.
After that, the Judean relaxed a fraction. He worked his shoulders, pulled at his beard, adjusted the strap on his satchel again, and then looked down at what Hasani was gesturing to.
“I don’t care if there’s a rash in your tribe,” Amiti tried to explain this patiently but his patience was already threadbare. “I’m saying that I do not have a rash.” Gesturing to his whole body, he shook his head in an exaggerated way and repeated, “No rash.”
When Hasani said the words ‘motion’ and ‘show’, Amiti was now true and fully lost. Did he mean show him he didn’t have a rash? Probably. That must be it. Jerking up the sleeves of his robe so that his forearms were exposed, he gestured in a large way. “Noooo raaaaaaash,” he said slowly and did the same thing to the other arm. “See? Noooooo raaaaaaaaaaassh.”
If Hasani expected to see the rest of him, he was going to be disappointed. Amiti was not going to get half naked or even fully naked in this busy market. People were already looking at them strangely. He saw another man coming up to them, carrying a fruit basket and eating a pomegranate. Obviously things had gone from bad to worse and he was going to have to explain the whole rash thing over again.
But then, wonder of wonders, this man spoke Coptic! Amazing! It was heavily accented, of course, but a language they had in common! Finally.
“Yes!” he gestured emphatically with his hands. “I do! Tell Hasani I don’t have a rash!”
Hasani was very glad for the presence of Mwenye, especially because the man brought fruit. With his gaze turning from the strange Judean man to the fruit being offered to him by his friend, Hasani eyed Amiti as he took a few seeds of the pomegranate for himself, popping one or two into his mouth while Mwenye spoke to Amiti in coptic. When Amiti responded in a language that Hasani actually understood...
The Leier froze and stared at the Judean like he had grown a second head. Then he started laughing, riotously so. Because this was single-handedly the most dim-witted thing he was sure he had ever done. But then again, neither he nor Amiti had thought to ask the other if they knew coptic.
Hasani had spent such a long time shadowing the old leier, talking with Neena, and interacting with the people of Egypt that he had picked up on the language long ago. Many others of his tribe were not so lucky to have the capacity, and others just had no interest. But Hasani thought it vital for good communication with their Egyptian neighbors. After all, how was one to effectively and efficiently trade with people when they could not understand one another. It just left the tribe and the Egyptians fighting with one another.
Such as Hasani and Amiti were doing right now. The leier felt partially like an idiot, but at the same time he also felt highly amused at how stressed he had made this stranger. Had Neena come upon them, she might have scolded him for taking such joy in such a little trick.
"So you speak coptic," Hasani noted as he relaxed. There was a pronounced smirk on his features that told Amiti he was highly amused with the entire situation. "You do not have a rash then. My apologies," the big man shrugged both of his shoulders, eating the rest of the seeds he had taken from Mwenye. "My dear friend," Hasani nodded toward Mwenye, "Always thinking of things I do not."
Then dark eyes flickered back to Amiti's face. "What is it you were trying so hard to ask me, Amiti?" As if he had not just made the man furious. As if there had not been a verbal struggle between them. Hasani honestly seemed to feel no remorse or regret, only amusement that things had escalated this far.
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Hasani was very glad for the presence of Mwenye, especially because the man brought fruit. With his gaze turning from the strange Judean man to the fruit being offered to him by his friend, Hasani eyed Amiti as he took a few seeds of the pomegranate for himself, popping one or two into his mouth while Mwenye spoke to Amiti in coptic. When Amiti responded in a language that Hasani actually understood...
The Leier froze and stared at the Judean like he had grown a second head. Then he started laughing, riotously so. Because this was single-handedly the most dim-witted thing he was sure he had ever done. But then again, neither he nor Amiti had thought to ask the other if they knew coptic.
Hasani had spent such a long time shadowing the old leier, talking with Neena, and interacting with the people of Egypt that he had picked up on the language long ago. Many others of his tribe were not so lucky to have the capacity, and others just had no interest. But Hasani thought it vital for good communication with their Egyptian neighbors. After all, how was one to effectively and efficiently trade with people when they could not understand one another. It just left the tribe and the Egyptians fighting with one another.
Such as Hasani and Amiti were doing right now. The leier felt partially like an idiot, but at the same time he also felt highly amused at how stressed he had made this stranger. Had Neena come upon them, she might have scolded him for taking such joy in such a little trick.
"So you speak coptic," Hasani noted as he relaxed. There was a pronounced smirk on his features that told Amiti he was highly amused with the entire situation. "You do not have a rash then. My apologies," the big man shrugged both of his shoulders, eating the rest of the seeds he had taken from Mwenye. "My dear friend," Hasani nodded toward Mwenye, "Always thinking of things I do not."
Then dark eyes flickered back to Amiti's face. "What is it you were trying so hard to ask me, Amiti?" As if he had not just made the man furious. As if there had not been a verbal struggle between them. Hasani honestly seemed to feel no remorse or regret, only amusement that things had escalated this far.
Hasani was very glad for the presence of Mwenye, especially because the man brought fruit. With his gaze turning from the strange Judean man to the fruit being offered to him by his friend, Hasani eyed Amiti as he took a few seeds of the pomegranate for himself, popping one or two into his mouth while Mwenye spoke to Amiti in coptic. When Amiti responded in a language that Hasani actually understood...
The Leier froze and stared at the Judean like he had grown a second head. Then he started laughing, riotously so. Because this was single-handedly the most dim-witted thing he was sure he had ever done. But then again, neither he nor Amiti had thought to ask the other if they knew coptic.
Hasani had spent such a long time shadowing the old leier, talking with Neena, and interacting with the people of Egypt that he had picked up on the language long ago. Many others of his tribe were not so lucky to have the capacity, and others just had no interest. But Hasani thought it vital for good communication with their Egyptian neighbors. After all, how was one to effectively and efficiently trade with people when they could not understand one another. It just left the tribe and the Egyptians fighting with one another.
Such as Hasani and Amiti were doing right now. The leier felt partially like an idiot, but at the same time he also felt highly amused at how stressed he had made this stranger. Had Neena come upon them, she might have scolded him for taking such joy in such a little trick.
"So you speak coptic," Hasani noted as he relaxed. There was a pronounced smirk on his features that told Amiti he was highly amused with the entire situation. "You do not have a rash then. My apologies," the big man shrugged both of his shoulders, eating the rest of the seeds he had taken from Mwenye. "My dear friend," Hasani nodded toward Mwenye, "Always thinking of things I do not."
Then dark eyes flickered back to Amiti's face. "What is it you were trying so hard to ask me, Amiti?" As if he had not just made the man furious. As if there had not been a verbal struggle between them. Hasani honestly seemed to feel no remorse or regret, only amusement that things had escalated this far.
"By which you mean I think?" Mwenye suggested archly, in their own language. He laughed too, though considerably more subdued. Now that the misunderstanding was sorted out, he didn't see a reason for anyone to remain upset either, and he didn't consider speaking a language he knew the stranger didn't know to be rude. Except when directly addressing each other, he was quite used to traders along the border making no consideration for being understood by the other side. He shook his head, giving his Leier a mock-disappointed look. "Where are your wives? Isn't it their job to keep you from making a fool of yourself?"
He chuckled again, then looked over at the Judean and switched back to Coptic. "What you come to trade, so far from home?" While most had come due to the news they had the medicinal herbs available, it just as likely, Mwenye guessed, that if someone had come from as far as Judea, they were seeking something more predictably available from the Bedoin, and likely to want it badly enough to pay a high price. It depended whether the man had traveled to find them in the first place, or whether he had come to Egypt for another reason, and this was simply a side trip. "Have you spent long in Egypt?"
Mwenye chewed a few seeds as he listened attentively to the reply, quietly thoughtful. He didn't have the same extreme fascination with new people and new places as Neena, but neither did he need to fake interest.
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"By which you mean I think?" Mwenye suggested archly, in their own language. He laughed too, though considerably more subdued. Now that the misunderstanding was sorted out, he didn't see a reason for anyone to remain upset either, and he didn't consider speaking a language he knew the stranger didn't know to be rude. Except when directly addressing each other, he was quite used to traders along the border making no consideration for being understood by the other side. He shook his head, giving his Leier a mock-disappointed look. "Where are your wives? Isn't it their job to keep you from making a fool of yourself?"
He chuckled again, then looked over at the Judean and switched back to Coptic. "What you come to trade, so far from home?" While most had come due to the news they had the medicinal herbs available, it just as likely, Mwenye guessed, that if someone had come from as far as Judea, they were seeking something more predictably available from the Bedoin, and likely to want it badly enough to pay a high price. It depended whether the man had traveled to find them in the first place, or whether he had come to Egypt for another reason, and this was simply a side trip. "Have you spent long in Egypt?"
Mwenye chewed a few seeds as he listened attentively to the reply, quietly thoughtful. He didn't have the same extreme fascination with new people and new places as Neena, but neither did he need to fake interest.
"By which you mean I think?" Mwenye suggested archly, in their own language. He laughed too, though considerably more subdued. Now that the misunderstanding was sorted out, he didn't see a reason for anyone to remain upset either, and he didn't consider speaking a language he knew the stranger didn't know to be rude. Except when directly addressing each other, he was quite used to traders along the border making no consideration for being understood by the other side. He shook his head, giving his Leier a mock-disappointed look. "Where are your wives? Isn't it their job to keep you from making a fool of yourself?"
He chuckled again, then looked over at the Judean and switched back to Coptic. "What you come to trade, so far from home?" While most had come due to the news they had the medicinal herbs available, it just as likely, Mwenye guessed, that if someone had come from as far as Judea, they were seeking something more predictably available from the Bedoin, and likely to want it badly enough to pay a high price. It depended whether the man had traveled to find them in the first place, or whether he had come to Egypt for another reason, and this was simply a side trip. "Have you spent long in Egypt?"
Mwenye chewed a few seeds as he listened attentively to the reply, quietly thoughtful. He didn't have the same extreme fascination with new people and new places as Neena, but neither did he need to fake interest.