She’s counted all of them since she was taken. They made their mark in searing sun and grit stinging her eyes, in pain, in blood, in thirst; they left no mark at all, when life was a fountain’s music in a silken cage, and that was worse. Now, returning, she’s slipped her chains and the count has changed; there’s hope ahead and an army behind her, and she’s not afraid to live ten thousand more.