20 October 2 Dawn. The cold morning got the chief shepherd and the flocks moving among the pistachio and walnut trees. Bleats and bellows from goats and sheep echoed in the crisp air, an ancient concerto. A young girl carried two kid goats by their feet; Bea and Alice helped out as best they could, the sound of many bells stimulating and soothing. The sun crested the peaks, and everyones faces reflected the warm light as donkeys were loaded with blankets, rugs, and tents, the tribe ready to move down valley towards greener pastures. Gwafa helped to load the horses, his broad smile and curious Malian songs endearing him well to the young. The nomad women sang; Gwafa didnt understand the lyrics, but the deep emotion was clear. He thought it might have been about separated lovers, a common theme in the vast deserts. The simple life was by no means simple, he thought, but it held the charm and satisfaction of ones hard work for the greater good of all. No selfishness had been evident, no greed. Mother Nature took as much as she gave, the rhythm, the ebb and flow of life a constant and nurturing hum. Allah bless these fine people, or we would be dead, he mumbled to himself, tightening the straps of leather that held on the horses blanket saddle. Principle of Rhythm. There was a spiritual agreement between animal and human, Bea thought, and it felt perfectly natural. We are all one in the cosmos, but I never thought Id be one with a lamb. Now she finally understood what Colonel Lawrence had been writing about in his books, the Arabs a noble people worth much more than the sum of their scattered desert parts. They were a golden race of remote nobles who held nature and family, Allah and tribe, as the greatest of treasures. The tribes single cow ate the last of the thinning sweet grass wet from dew; a young boy whapped it with a stick but it was slow to respond other than a fart. By the fire, an older man and his companion branded a sheep on its cheek, the mark difficult to