Over the Arabian Sea the night sky sparkled with hundreds of glittering stars. Appreciating their beauty, Jazira looked up at the familiar sky once more before entering the stair well leading to the cargo hold. Earlier she had met Frank and both of them had used the excuse of being too tired, so they had skipped dinner. Jazira's conscience smote her, tired she was not. Her neck literally ached with the burden Mr. Lawrence had placed on her shoulders, and her mind spun ways to explain this new plan of his to Frank. The stars were an inviting sight to behold. They reminded her that this day, when it was over, would take it's place in her past along with all the others. How often she used to sit and look up at the stars with her father. She missed him, she missed his counsel. He would certainly lecture her now, about her headstrong will, her defiant spirit; it always sounded more harsh than he intended. The Sheik had been their to smooth out the hard roads in life, to prevent her from being too near sighted, always reminding her to think about the future, her future. Now that Jazira had her freedom, she appreciated the security of having boundaries in life. Since leaving England, she was directing her own course, her own life, making her own choices. It was frightening to think that time was her only measure to determine if she had chosen wisely. Suddenly, on this ship full of people, Jazira felt all alone. She entered the stair well.

Since Mr. Lawrence had promised her the stallion, the son of the great Al-Altair, it was Jazira's evening ritual to give the horse a good going over with the curry comb. As she descended the steps an elderly gentleman passed her on his way up saying politely,

"Good evening."

Jazira returned the kindness. As she turned the corner she stopped abruptly. The stallion was standing in the middle of the alleyway, Frank was bent over, briskly brushing the Arabian's immense front quarter flank. Apparently, he had not been tired either. Jazira stepped forward, silently. As Frank stretched toward the horse's foreleg, he caught sight of the leather sandals peeping out from under the hem of the olive green and golden skirt. He stopped and stood up. His undershirt, the only shirt he had on, was open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The sheen of prespiration gave his skin a healthy glow. A bead of sweat escaped his brow and trickled down the side of his face. Something inarticulate had hung between them all evening, and Frank noticed the crease on Jazira's forehead, the worry generated in the back of her eyes. The fact that she remained unusually quiet, even as she was now, only proved something was troubling her. But, she had not told him what was wrong, and he would not force it out, she would have to come out with it on her own. Frank did feel for her, however. Whatever the trouble was, it was obviously a heavy burden to bear. So compassionately he started the conversation,

"Hi, it seems like neither one of us was as tired as we thought we were."

Frank gave Jazira a quick, encouraging smile and bent back down to his work. Jazira responded hesitantly,

"No, I guess we weren't."

Frank found refuge in his work. There was a barrel standing along the opposite wall and Jazira walked over and sat down on it. Leaning back against the wall, she silently watched Frank work. She could see the pull of his muscles through his shirt, the power in his arms measuring out the right amount of pressure in his strokes with the brush. There was something fortifying watching a man at work. Jazira sighed. Frank heard her and as he continued working he decided how he could best help her. When he finally finished with the stallion, he slapped him on the rump and said,

"There you go, partner. As good as new." He led the Arabian back into the stall and shut the gate, sliding the bolt home.

Jazira felt like her opportunity was slipping away and spoke tensely, "Frank, there's something I need to tell you."

That kind of statement was the stuff his nightmares were made of, he was glad his back was to her. He closed his eyes a second, gathering himself together before he turned around to face her. From where he stood he said gently,

"No, Jazira, not tonight. There is something I would like to say to you, though."

The look of relief that flashed across her face did not escape his notice. Frank began, "There was a time when I got involved in something much bigger than me. I was trying to do something good for myself, and there was a point when I said it was 'too late to turn back now'. I already had too much involved, and too much at stake. But it turned out to be one of the best things to happen in my life. It did change me, for the good."

Jazira lovingly smiled at him, she knew he was speaking about the Great Race. Frank stepped towards her and continued, "And there was a time when I believed I should give it all up, I should quit, that I wasn't worth the achievement of what I had set out to do, to accomplish. But then you told me, Jazira, blood is not more important than will. You've used your will, deciding to help Mr. Lawrence. I understand that. But, I just want to remind you. . ."Frank stepped forward again, now very close to Jazira. From her perch on the barrel she looked up into his eyes, and he looked serenely down into hers, saying conclusively, "It's your will, not mine, not his, that controls your future. Just remember that."

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and coaxed her into the circle of his arm to exit the cargo hold together. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest as they walked side by side. She whispered,

"Thank you."