After a long negotiation, the Trader and the Shaman sat together outside the tent.


    The Trader was pleased. These nomads were simple folk, easy to deceive.


    He had sold his goods for far more than they were worth.


    As they sat, a woman passed by.


    “What a beauty,” the Trader said, admiration in his voice. “She’s like a drink of fresh water.”


    “Sometimes,” the Shaman replied. “But not always.”The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The Trader frowned. “What do you mean?”


    “She’s full now,” the Shaman explained. “Her hunger is sated, so she’s beautiful.


    But later, she’ll grow hungry again. And when she does, she will change.”


    The Trader barely listened. His eyes were fixed on the woman.


    He rose and followed her.


    No one stopped him.


    The nomads may have been simple, but they weren’t foolish.


    No one took food from Benice Hatun.


    Benice Hatun fed herself with the Trader that night.


    She grew beautiful again, calm and radiant.


    The Trader didn’t know, couldn’t know, what her name truly meant.


    But it meant eternity.