Nia was already busy in the Saffron Dune Market, hopping from one spice stall to the next to help the sellers open their morning jars neatly. She straightened a woven mat here, brushed sand from a lid there, and made sure the bright little piles of herbs stayed in tidy rows. The market was just waking up under its yellow and rust awnings, and the air smelled like mint, cumin, and sweet melon.
Then a fluttering shadow swept over the stall roofs.
A flock of thirsty desert birds—small brown birds with sharp beaks and quick feet—dropped into the market all at once. They landed across the open tables and started pecking at the bright dried herbs, fruit slices, and loose grains. One bird tugged at a strip of mint. Another hopped into a bowl of saffron-colored crumbs. A third tipped its head toward the clay water jar in the middle of the market, where cool water sat under the canopy.
The spice sellers lifted their hands. “Careful!” one called. “Gently, now!”
Nia froze beside a brass cup stall, her teal scarf lifting in the warm breeze. She could see that the birds were not trying to be naughty. They were thirsty. But if they stayed where they were, more jars would be opened, more goods would be pecked, and the stalls would be a mess before the day even began.
Omar hurried in from the melon cart, talking fast. “I can shoo them—no, maybe I can wave—wait, maybe they want fruit—”
Laila, from her shaded doorway, watched the birds and the open jars with a quiet, worried look.
Nia looked from the birds to the water jar to the spice stalls all around her. She wanted to help in a way that kept everyone safe, but she could already see the trouble spreading from stall to stall. She would have to decide where to start before the birds spoiled more of the market.
What happens next?
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