Harun walked beside Musa near the green bushes. Sand swirled across the dunes. Far away, someone shouted.
Their feet sank in the warm grains. Harun stepped forward and held out both hands.
He guided them through the dunes. A child stumbled — Harun lifted her up. The wind whistled. He kept going.
Through the dunes they went, the young man leading the way with steady sure steps. The second young man stayed close behind, eyes scanning the golden ridges. The lost travelers followed, their pace slowly steadying as hope returned.
The oasis appeared. Cool water gleamed. The people smiled. Musa clapped Harun on the back.
"You found us," the oldest traveler said. Harun nodded. "I saw you from the ridge."
That night, Harun slept by the fire. The village was safe.
In his dream, sand stretched all around — but he stood tall. The grains did not swallow him. He walked through them, and they held him.
Morning came. The rescued travelers packed to leave, waving from the path.
"He is brave," the oldest traveler told the others. "He did not hesitate."
Harun returned to the oasis. The water was calm and clear. He sat and listened to the wind in the palms.
When the wind blew sand, Harun did not flinch. He had learned the desert was not something to fear — it was something to walk through.
