Later, lying in her narrow bed underneath the open window, Iman could see the night sky. It would never be completely dark, they were too far north for that. Instead, pink twilight glowed over the western horizon. There were clouds that looked round and full like candyfloss and ones that were as flat as milk stains. Low streaks of light touched the ground as if there would never be a deep dark night. In the east there was a crescent – low, orange and perfect. The stars were distant, much more distant than she could remember seeing before.

Back home, her family slept outdoors in the summer and indoors in the winter. The desert gave them scorching heat and bitter cold. Hers were a hardy people, able to adjust and pickle and organise. But it was not memories of home that Iman embraced, not memories of walks along the Euphrates or vendors selling grilled corn. Instead her ears caught the sound of wings, a rustle of movement, sounds that were at first gentle but then became distinct. Through the window, a shy creature hesitated, asked permission to come in and speak to her. I am dreaming, she thought. I am dreaming, and this is a good dream.

The creature was a bird, but it belonged to the night. The creature could be a bat, but it had feathers. It spoke a language that she could understand. It knew her from long ago, it had travelled with her all those miles, never left her side, was always there but only here, in this special place, could it make itself known. Yet it was not entirely visible, not exactly, for when she looked at it directly it disappeared. She had to pretend she was looking in another direction or at something else for the orange, black and white to materialise again. But this was not a problem, Iman wanted to listen to it and talk to it more than she wanted to look at it. The creature had a name. Hoopoe, it said, named after the bird in the Qur’an. You are too big for a hoopoe, said Iman. You are fat. She was not afraid to tease it.

He said, ‘You are bigger than me, but I know more. I can find hidden sources of water. You are stronger, but I have flown further. I have seen east and west, north and south. Inhuman creatures that trail purple clouds. Remote forests, trapped people, animals as big as giants, humans as small as plants. I’ve seen surplus, building and tearing down. At times, I’ve seen nothing because in some places there was nothing, nothing alive. But all things submit to the rule of time. We can’t stop it moving, it pulls us forwards; it takes us away. There is no escape. I am here to warn you. Do not stay here in this cottage, at this loch, for too long.’

‘Oh, I love it here,’ she said. ‘A room all to myself and the cupboard full of clothes. I don’t want to leave.’