Mkhtwtat-alm-alsnah -

The children who had once giggled at his monster drawings now sat at his feet. “Master,” one asked, “does every year have teeth?”

On the sixth day, the fever turned. In the village, it became a red cough that filled lungs with stone. The stayed ones perished.

So the village packed. Not all—some stayed, calling him a liar. But those who followed Raheem walked three days east, to the salt flats where nothing grew. The Year’s teeth, they believed, had no hunger for stone and brine. mkhtwtat-alm-alsnah

Every morning, he unrolled a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in ink made from crushed lapis and burnt rosemary. His neighbors called him mad, for Raheem spoke of the year not as months or seasons, but as a creature—an immense, unseen beast that circled the world once every twelve moons. He called it , the Biting Year.

From that year on, the salt flats bloomed with a new village. And on the first wall of every home, the people drew one thing: a single, careful tooth. Not to worship the Biting Year. But to remember: what tries to devour you can also be drawn, studied, and outwalked. The children who had once giggled at his

The people laughed. Children peeked into his workshop and saw walls covered in what looked like the teeth of some impossible serpent. But Raheem kept drawing.

In the old quarter of a city whose name no one remembers, there lived a cartographer named Raheem. But Raheem did not draw rivers, roads, or mountains. He drew time . The stayed ones perished

“The Year has teeth,” Raheem would warn. “And if you do not know its jawline, its grinding molars, its canines of loss and harvest—it will swallow you whole.”