The camels were white and elegant, fast and enduring, as befit the mounts of kings. The mare, tethered to the saddle of the first camel, was as white, as elegant, as enduring, and even faster. Her ancestors had traveled the same way, tethered to camels, waiting for the shock of the rider’s leap and the joy of racing into battle. The journey was strange to her, familiar to them, but their presence comforted her. It was a long journey, and there were many stops. At each stop, there were sleeping children. Under the beds were boxes filled with wilting grass; the camels shared their sustenance with the mare. Once emptied, the boxes were filled with gifts from the camels’ packs. The kings, splendid in their eternal service to children, remounted, and the journey continued. Over and over, the motion and the halt, the children and the boxes, the grass and the gifts. Until they arrived at a black iron bedstead. Here, the box of grass was presented to the mare alone, as she was tethered by the heel to the bedstead. The kings and their camels continued on their patient, joyful journey. For the mare was a gift too. Footnotes…