Hay had made it through.

She'd walked all day, all night. And then, she'd reached an oasis. It's the edge of the desert. People live in small mud houses, cook on an open fire. They had accepted her and her sister Daffodil welcomingly.

Nice people. Tomorrow Hay plans to set off out of the desert to the town nearby.

She's trying to sleep now. Daffodil's breathing is rhythmic... She can barely hold her eyes open.
An old country song played in her mind...

Freshly laid dried grass,  meadows of paradise,
They're all yellow....