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Entering the desolate sand-buried town after a cramped and bumpy 11-hour bus ride, a Swiss couple asked me, “You’re alone?” I hear the shock in their voices. “I have a guide,” I said, only to reassure them. “And you trust him?” They looked appalled. “I had a terrible time here,” a German girl said. “It’s not safe at all. You should leave with us right now.” I thanked them for the warning. But I was staying. Everyone saw me as a young, delicate, and fragile Asian girl. But it also wasn’t necessary for me to disclose to anyone about the violent life that I had lived, nor the reason why I wander the world the way I do. I was escaping. Having stocked up on food and water which I must ration meticulously, I took a dusty motorbike ride into the desert. This wasn’t the side of the Sahara where groups of tourists came to ride camels. This was where the locals who spoke a version of the Darija glanced at you with curiosity, where no one wanted you to buy anything from them, where you breathed dust into your lungs and wiped dust off of your face, and where you could end up in the barrens to never see another human again. Not having sleeping arrangements, I climbed on top of a dune to fall asleep alone. In the middle of the cold night, I woke up, feeling a warm body breathing right beside me. I gasped and the dogs started barking. As there were more stars than the sky, I could see my surroundings clearly under the starlight. It was me, the unending dunes that extended every direction, and five substantial dogs that encircled me. I felt uneasy and afraid. But a dog gently licked my hand, the sandy breeze skimmed the dune to caress my skin, and a shooting star burned a white line across the sky. Seeing that I had calmed down, the dogs quieted down and we huddled together. The night was cold and the wind was coarse but their fur was soft and their embrace was warm. The next morning when I woke up, they were all gone. I went to the nearest desert camp in an attempt to find safety from the extreme sun. It was 113 degrees Fahrenheit and the only electronic that I brought—my outdated Samsung—had completely broken down. I wet my lips with a little bit of water and the owner of the camp helped protect my bottles with camel skin. He told me that I had a 100% chance of dying out in the desert. I told him that that was the whole point. Once again alone in the desert, I climbed on top of the tallest dune and watched the setting sun color everything red like the sand. And in the middle of the night, I was awoken by the sharp barks ringing through the silence of the desert. I learned that the dogs had a system where while any two would stand guard next to me barking, the other three would run down the dune to whatever animal or human that was passing by to make sure they wouldn’t dare come anywhere near the dune which I was on. They were quite aggressive and never hesitated from attacking. One of them was running differently and I saw that he was missing a leg. Only after whatever or whoever fled far enough to their liking, would the dogs return to my side and we’d cuddle back to sleep. This repeated throughout the night and every night that I was there. It was only when I was leaving that I met a local man who confirmed that the dogs were his. “Do the dogs normally go out into the dunes to sleep?” I asked. “No!” He shook his head and waved his hand. “They always sleep with me inside the house. They never disappear like this. I was so confused! But I now see that they were protecting you. You were safe with them. You were very lucky.” At that moment, I had a realization. I was no longer escaping. I was finally healing.