The sun slowly rises to the east of the bedouin camp. I solemnly sit on the same sand dune near the women's tent that I stood on before yesterday's battle. Contemplatively, I run my fingers up and down the assault rifle I picked up from the corpse of a fallen militiaman. I noticed that carrying a weapon is a sign of status here. It is an obvert symbol that one is able to defend oneself. The people here no longer try to hide me away or ignore me because I am woman. Perhaps my actions earned the respect of Khalid's men…or more likely they're just too afraid to say anything that I could take offense to. Either way, I am a now someone that they just can't push aside.

Guilt racks me despite my conscious attempt to discount it. I look out at fourteen freshly dug graves in the sand a few dozen yards away from me. Soon, they will contain the remains of the six men of this tribe who died in the revenge attack waged against these selfless people for the simple act of saving me. The other graves came as a bit more of a shock.

The preparation for the funeral began yesterday evening and continued into the night. Apparently, it is tradition here that the dead must be buried less than twenty-fours from when they passed or else they will not reach paradise. That, I could understand easily enough, but as soon as the bereaved family members of the fallen had finished with their sad task of digging the graves they began work on the eight more right next to the final resting places of their loved ones. Soon, I realized that those other tombs were being prepared for the bandits. I asked Khalid why such thought was being given to the enemy.

"Because," Khalid responded to my inquiry with the same plain innocence he used in explaining the logic behind my rescue, "It does not matter what sins these men have committed against us in this life. They have passed on to the next. Only God may judge them for what they did. We must give them the same rights as we would ask for. To deny them those would be just as sinful."

"Such Nobility," I think. "In Panem, we would judge these people for not having the same simple disregard for others as we do. To us, our enemies do not deserve the same recognition or pity as we would give to our own. All we think about is what we gain from their destruction. Perhaps it these hardy and pious souls in Tripolitania who should judge us instead…"

I hear the rhythmic chanting of the entire tribe over my shoulder. It's been going nonstop for the past hour, starting in darkness and continuing into the light of dawn. The fourteen sets of remains have been ritually cleaned by the women of the tribe and wrapped in pure white shrouds before being placed facing east into the rising sun.

Khalid leads the funeral service. He lies prostrated on a woven prayer mat directly adjacent to the bodies. The rest of the men of the camp pray behind him aligned in five perfect rows. The women also join in the prayers, but they are separated from the men out of custom and tradition. Khalid asked me if I wished to join them, but I feel I did not have a part in their ritual. It's not because I didn't value it, but because I thought my presence would somehow detract from the sanctity.

The chanting pauses for a few brief seconds. I look back and see Khalid rise to his feet and hold his arms out to his sides. Then, he drops back down to his knees and gently touches his forehead to the earth before beginning to pray aloud again. The other mourners behind him perfectly mirror his motions and words. I immediately get the idea that this ritual must be rehearsed here from a very young age…and perhaps funerals here are not uncommon occurrences.

Finally, as the sky turns from a deep orange to a dim blue, the chanting stops and a somber procession to the graves begins. The men all step forward to act as pallbearers and the women march behind them. As the whole somber parade passes by me, I climb to my feet. Though I cannot honor these people with their own ways, I can at least try to honor them with mine.

One by one, the corpses are lowered into the earth. Carefully, they are each placed on their side so that they may eternally face the east. Clearly, this is a sacred direction for them and they treat it with such reverence that I'm afraid to ask why.

At last, the shovels of sand are placed over the bodies, and with their task complete, the crowd of mourners dissipates before the tribe returns to life in the camp almost as if nothing had happened.

I turn to see Khalid approach me.

"Today, we will prepare to move the camp," he says with a pain in his voice the same as if he's just watched the home he grew up in burn to the ground. "It is no longer safe here. You are welcome to accompany us, Hatchet, or you may leave and go where you wish. The choice is yours."

Surely, the pirates have realized that their raiding party has not returned by now and will send even more fighters out to search for them. Even with my skills and training, I don't stand much of a chance on my own against a large group on terrain that I'm not in the least familiar with. However, if I join Khalid's tribe on its trek, my chance of any rescuers ever finding me diminishes even further. I roll the dilemma over and over in my mind before suddenly realizing there might be a third option.

"Would you please walk with me and show me the camp before you tear it down?" I ask trying to earn his trust. What I'm going to suggest will require his full support and faith in me. "I didn't get the chance to see it yesterday because all of you were preparing for the funeral."

Ever the impeccable host, Khalid instantly, if not somberly, agrees.

"As you wish."

I sling my new rifle over my back. It is simple gesture, but one recognized among people like us who must use one to fight to survive. Carrying a weapon in front of you means you're nervous, and ready for action. My act lets Khalid know that I believe I'm among friends.

We walk through the center of the camp. My heart breaks as I see the same painful sight repeated over and over again in front of me. Through each of the tent flaps, I see families sitting down to a meager breakfast. Parents sacrifice their own tiny ration to try to alleviate some of the hunger in the wide eyes and empty bellies of their children. I cannot help but picture Aurora in the faces of these young ones, gratefully accepting what little food there is because they realize that complaining would serve only to further add to the pain and desperation felt by their parents.

They all have grown old long before their time. Could it only have been a week ago that I saw my daughter sitting on the couch, watching television with a bowl of cereal, just being happy at being naive and innocent? Perhaps that's really what "civilization" is: giving your children the ability to be young for as long as possible. I make my choice right then and there. I won't just leave and forever live with the knowledge that I've left these people still suffering this harsh fate. It was my mission to help them, and I know that's exactly what I'm going to do.

As we approach the far end of the tents, I turn to Khalid and say

"How do you continue to live like this?" Instantly, I regret my choice words, but as I scan Khalid's face for signs of offense, all I can detect is desperation and sorrow.

"How else would we live?" He finally manages to say in almost a whisper. "This is our land. It is where we were born, and where we will one day be buried. It is all we pray for. We could leave, but where we would go? Is it better to starve is someone else's country or in your own?"

"He's right, of course," I think as I reflect on Panem's past struggles.

We reach the far end of the camp and stare out once again at the endless desert. There is a simple corral made of rope and a few tiny pieces of wood that contains a type of animal I have never seen before. They are tall and hairy, with long necks, elongated faces, and a large hump right in the middle of their back. I'm intimidated at first by their massive size, but Khalid immediately goes up to the nearest one and begins to rub it behind its large, sand-colored ears.

"My father taught me it is a sin to kill a camel…" he says trailing off. "They carry us and our homes through the desert, they give us wool, milk, and even life itself…but now, the old ways are forgotten, families are neglected, and the technology of foreigners is used to corrupt those who refuse to abandon their honor…"

"What?" I say cautiously, but Khalid just grins and beckons me over to him with a friendly wave. A little timidly, I approach the edge of the corral. Suddenly, Khalid grabs my hand and places it behind the beast's ear. The camel gives a satisfied grunt as I start to gently pet it. I cannot help but grin as the animal almost seems to smile with its huge mouth. It's kind of cute…despite the horrible smell of its steaming breath.

"When I was a boy, I was given the gift of a camel by my father when I turned ten. Arrogantly, one day I went out into the desert by myself. Within a few hours, I was so lost I could not find my way back home. After the afternoon sun roasted me to the point of death, I started to prepare to meet God, but my camel began to walk forward on its own. I was too tired to resist, so I let it carry me.

As if it was trying to save my life, it led me straight to a tiny oasis hidden among the sand dunes. It was almost as if he could tell I was suffering and needed help. I was able to stay alive there long enough for the men of the tribe to find me. It was that day I learned, it is very dangerous to wander if you do not know where you are going…I will not put my people through that. If we decide to act, we will act with purpose, and not just hope."

Slowly, I pull my hand away from the camel and look straight at Khalid's face.

"What if I could give you a purpose?" This peaks Khalid's attention.

"How so?"

"You know where the main militia camp is, don't you?"

"Yes, twenty miles to the north along the coast. It is heavily defended and the area is crawling with bandit patrols."

"My country sent me to help you free yourself of these criminals. At first, the only plan was to give you food, but I can see that will never be enough. The more we give you, the more they will come and try to fight you for it….unless you fight back."

"We have tried before and failed time after time. Now, we only fight to stay alive for another day."

"Well, maybe it's time you tried again," I say more than a little disdainfully.

"Do you have a family back in your homeland?" he asks bluntly.

"Yes, I have a husband and daughter." Suddenly, Khalid scoffs playfully.

"Somehow, I cannot picture a soldier as fierce as you was ever able to give birth to a child." I know he doesn't mean it impolitely. It is just different than everything else he has ever known. "Once a woman marries here, it is her place to care for her family. It is the man who protects it. " I find another grin creeping across my face.

"Let's just say that my place has never exactly been the home."

The sun has now climbed high enough in the sky that the heat is becoming noticeable. Khalid motions for me to follow him back to camp, but it is me who grabs his arm this time.

"I can't do it alone, Khalid," I say with a piercing look in my eyes. "I need your tribe's help to win, but I'm going to fight the pirates with or without it."

It's as if I've suddenly dropped a huge weight directly on his shoulders.

"Are you that eager to die? Go home! Go home to your husband and daughter and live the life that God has laid out for you. This is not your war. We never asked for your help."

"It is now," I say even more seriously. "You saved me. Your men died yesterday because you saved me. That makes it personal. I'm not going anywhere without trying to repay the favor. Does that code of honor that's so important to you say anything about that?" I never expect Khalid's reaction. He throws back his head and laughs loud enough for the entire camp to hear him.

"Yes, actually it does." He calms down a little and smiles. "You are truly a warrior. I have never seen anyone wield a weapon with such fiery passion as you did with that," he says pointing down to the hatchet hanging from my belt. "It would be my honor to fight alongside you in glorious battle that my children and children's children will speak of around the evening fires for years to come, but as I've already said, it's hopeless. The weapons of the evil ones are too strong and my men will still not fight with you."

"You are their Sheik, aren't you?" I ask skeptically.

"Yes," he replies.

"Then convince them."

"The odds are against it," Khalid says downtrodden.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," I say with a smirk. "The odds are always in my favor."