The book of John Doe

The fleeting glint of murder in his eyes fades. In its place, a spark of intrigue begins to glow. He takes a moment to absorb your words—much like an alpinist pausing at the summit, savoring the hard-won view. Then he speaks:
— Whether you’re lying or not, we’ll find out soon enough. But if what you say is true, then I would dishonor my ancestors were I to turn my back on your quest.
— I’d be grateful enough if you let me go unharmed, sir. — you plead.
— Contrary to common belief, my dear, we bedouins are a people full of honor and courtsey. You’ll have to forgive my initial, hostile reception, but the desert is unforgiving to blunders, and it’s full of dangers. I have no intention of aimlessly harming no one, especially someone so important to the revolution.
— I only hope I can be of any relevance to it. Until now, I’ve been a nobody—lost long before I lost my bearings in this desert.
— We wanderers are well acquainted with that feeling, my friend. Let me help you in your quest. My son knows the desert like the palm of his hand. He can guide you wherever you need to go.
Such a generous offer—especially from someone who, just moments ago, seemed ready to take your life—is not easily dismissed. You pause, weighing your options, and then you say:

— Dear sir, you honor me with your offer, but mine is a path I must walk alone. I know neither the dangers that lie ahead nor the shape of my destiny. I thank you deeply, but I must release you from any burden of obligation.
And with that, you ride off into the desert, alone.

— Dear sir, you honor me with your offer, and I would be grateful to accept it. I know not what perils lie ahead, nor where my path may lead, but I can promise your ancestors will be honored by the journey we share.
At your words, the man nods solemnly, then beckons his son. You follow the young guide into the endless sands.