The air in the was thick with the scent of roasted chickpeas and dust. Firuz , a fellah (farmer) whose hands were as etched and dry as the riverbeds in August, did not care for gold or the whispers of the Sultan’s court. He cared for his dirt. The Seed of the Sun
, however, simply sat beneath its shade, sharing his water with the roots. The Choice fellah firuz
Firuz looked at the Governor, then at his cracked, hardworking hands. "This plant does not grow for kings," he whispered. "It grows for the thirsty." The air in the was thick with the