He told her he had to go and she packed a bag of her things. He told her it would be a long trip, a journey to a place that he knew nothing about and she sold all of her belongings and packed up her home. He told her this would be a dangerous trip, that those who had gone before had never come back and she bought a weapon. He told her she couldn’t come along and she didn’t believe him. Refused to take his word. And when he left, in the night, with her standing on the dock, she sang a keaning song for his lose and wrote his name among those of the dead on the wall facing the desert. And she never stopped watching for him and she wrote her story down and passed it on to the child she had that was his too.