and she remembered for a fraction of a moment the way things used to be, before they had decided to journey, before they had started saving the world.

As time went on, her husband encouraged her to get out more and to heal and help the tent-people. She thought that was so sweet and kind of him, because it reminded her of what they had discussed so seriously and hopefully prior to their arrival in the camp. But then, when he was asleep, or when he was away on one of his medical missions, her smile turned into a sarcastic glare, and the sparkle in her eyes was transformed into a spark of dreadful, cynical knowledge. Sure, she could go off for the day with her own little black bag, but what would happen then when they would both arrive home late at night, exhausted, to a flooded tent, a fire gone cold, and nothing to eat? What then?

But she never said this to her husband, because deep deep down in her heart of hearts she knew that he would never fully understand.

After three long months, her new life became routine, and she thought that she might, perhaps, with time, and practice, be able to erase some of her bitter-hearted blood-pumping disappointment. So when she woke up one morning to see that it was a lovely spring day, she decided to go for a walk, by herself, just for the fun of it. One of her favourite pastimes was to walk through the camp and stop every so often to read one or two of the many signs which were tacked onto the sides of the tents. They were mostly in the refugees’ language, which she was not yet able to fully understand, but at least they was decorative, and she liked to imagine what they might mean.

Perhaps this one says “Souls repaired, no job too small or too big,” and this one says “Prophet will tell your fortune for small fee”, or maybe even “Holistic pain-free dentist”. She amused herself this way for almost half an hour until she suddenly came across a small, handwritten poster with English writing on it. It said “JEWEL THIEF – THIS WOMAN IS WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE” and under these words there was a small sketch of a woman’s face, and it was her face. It was her face, framed with a mass of her auburn curls, and with a smile that was almost a sneer – a true likeness.