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Anna felt tears rise as Amastan entered, taking the banner in his calloused hands.
“This will fly above our fortress,” he said. “So all who see it will know who we are.”
Anna pressed her forehead to the cloth.
“May it never touch the ground,” she whispered.
> A people’s soul is woven into the banners they raise, and into the earth they refuse to yield.
That evening, Aisha entered Anna’s tent, carrying a folded cloth.
“It is ready,” she said, unwrapping an indigo and crimson banner sewn from scraps of robes and captured Ottoman silks.
Upon it was a handprint in ochre, encircled by Berber and Arabic script: Freedom, Dignity, Truth.
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