She followed the routine of the caravan drivers with a keen interest. The camels, the gear, the making of camp. They way the desert changed when the s...n turned towards the horizon. She admired the impressive nature she was beholding. She tried to talk with the man who shared his camel and his blankets with him. Their rudimentary French their lingua franca. It seemed his name was Omar. The old man Ali, the warrior Samir and the boy Abdul. She had told Omar she was Mary not Leedie. That lady was. Before he moved Down Under.’ ‘Really?’ Glancing across at the woman’s father, Melissa saw he’d turned to listen. ‘Years and years ago. But that’s one of the reasons we came in here,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Isn’t it Dad?’ she added, lifting her voice. ‘You’ve actually been here before, haven’t you?’ ‘A very long time ago,’ he called back, strolling back towards them. ‘When this place was still a farm.’ Melissa felt as though someone had prodded her awake. ‘That was a while ago.’ ‘More than. More

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