They blow across the world without a birthplace, and with no place to die.
“Help me,” the boy said. “One day you carried the voice of my loved one to me.”
“Who taught you to speak the language of the desert and the wind?” “My heart,” the boy answered.
The wind has many names. In that part of the world, it was called the sirocco, because it brought moisture from the oceans to the east.
In the distant land the boy came from, they called it the levanter, because they believed that it brought with it the sands of the desert,
and the screams of the Moorish wars. Perhaps, in the places beyond the pastures where his sheep lived, men thought that the wind came from Andalusia.
But, actually, the wind came from no place at all, nor did it go to any place; that’s why it was stronger than the desert.
Someone might one day plant trees in the desert, and even raise sheep there, but never would they harness the wind.
You can’t be the wind,the wind said. “We’re two very different things.”
“That’s not true,” the boy said. “I learned the alchemist’s secrets in my travels.
I have inside me the winds, the deserts, the oceans, the stars, and everything created in the universe.
We were all made by the same hand, and we have the same soul.
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