Achmed looked around the camp and picked out the fortuneteller’s tent.
“Easy,” he grinned.
The old woman grabbed Achmed’s hand as he was stuffing his pockets with coins and jewelry.
“Stop!” she yelled. “Thief!”
Achmed stabbed her with a dagger.
“A thousand curses upon your camel!” she hissed, and she died.
“Camel?” Achmed said. “If you could truly see the future, you’d have known that I don’t own a camel.”
He mounted his horse, and rode off into the night.
When his horse struck a sleeping camel, Achmed was thrown headlong.
The old woman’s laughter and blood filled his ears.