I knew she had three, because I caught a glimpse of the third one right between and a little above her breasts. It sounds lecherous, but it really wasn't intentional. Given the location and the situation, the only thought I had in connection to her body or mine was getting both of them back to the States in one piece. But I'm only human, and when her clip on mic wouldn't clip on and she asked me to fix it, I was afforded a clear view.

The backs of my fingers brushed against it as I secured the tiny piece of equipment in place. As an afterthought I buttoned the bottom of the three buttons she had left open. For some reason, now that I'd seen it I didn't want to share it on film with a million other people.

"Sorry." I had no idea why I said it.

She stood there, watching me look any place but directly at her eyes. "For what?"

"I don't know."

She laughed at my answer and predicament, and if we both hadn't already been sun and wind burned she would have been able to tell how flustered I really was.

"Haven't you ever seen one before?"

"Of course I have," I told her as I stepped away and tried to narrow my focus to what my wide angle lens could capture. "You have one on your left wrist."

As soon as the words left my mouth I realized I'd given myself away or else sounded like I'd been paying too much attention to detail. If there was any justice in the world, one of the cracks in the parched ground would have opened up and swallowed me whole right then and there. No such luck though.

"I've seen plenty of tattoos, just none that beautiful." It was meant as clarification but came out a little more candid than I intended.

"Thanks." She sounded a little far away when she said it, even though she was only about three feet from me. "It's a Native American design, kind of a combination of a dream catcher with the Cherokee word for peace inside. My grandmother was a full-blood."

Nothing more was said and we got back to work, hoping to get what we needed before the heat got any worse. We were filming just outside a refugee camp in Darfur, trying to get enough footage to finish the documentary that I'd signed onto in mid project. Lori Anders was one of the most respected freelance reporters on the globe. There hadn't been a conflict in the last 10 years that she hadn't covered, and when her camera man bailed after having enough of the heat, guns and grit, I jumped at the offer to take his place.

Our driver and guide served double duty as guard and was anxious to get us out of the region and collect the rest of his pay. Lori had connections, some that would probably scare me, and paid the man half at the onset with the promise of the balance once we crossed the border back into Chad. It had been a long two days of filming and I knew I'd never be the same, for a number of reasons.

On the drive to the airport, we both silent for the most part, packed into the back of the vehicle as it sped towards the west. I'd never been to a war zone before, and the rush of emotions was new to me. Lori fixed me with a serious look and touched my arm. "You okay?"

I countered with my own question. "What made you want to make this documentary?"

"There was a story that needed to be told to whoever will listen." There was no hesitation in her reply. "What made you take the job filming it?"

"There was a story that needed to be seen." True, I borrowed her words but didn't think she'd mind.

The four wheel drive hit a monster of a pot hole in the dirt path that was impersonating a road and I cringed as my camera equipment was slammed into my shin. Lori immediately reached down and pulled the heavy case back and I rolled up my cargo pants to inspect the damage. It was already turning a nice shade of indigo and Lori leaned down to have a look herself.

Pulling the material a little higher, she quickly became more interested in the roll of film that was inked onto my skin and wrapped around my ankle.

"So I see I'm not alone with the body art." She raised one eyebrow and smiled the first smile I'd seen in two days. "Got any more?"

"Nope," I answered as I pulled the material back down.

She looked as though she didn't believe me, then turned her wrist over so I could see the tattoo there clearly.

"Every time I do a story about another war I get another one. It's my way of marking time. This one is the Latin word for peace," she explained. In simple letters, the word pax was etched on her wrist. "I started with that one and moved on to other languages. I have more."

She left the statement hanging and I took all of about ten seconds to ask the obvious. "What and where?"

Lori took a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and finding a pen, scribbled something on it before handing it to me. "If you can memorize those by the time we get to Nairobi, I'll tell you. If you can memorize them in order, I'll show you."

By the time the plane sat down in Kenya, the words on the paper were starting to blur, partly from me staring at them for so long and from my damp palms. Lori hadn't spoken during the flight, but as soon as we stepped off the plane she held her hand out. I took one last look at the list and surrendered it.

It was getting late and I assumed we'd check into our hotel for the night before catching our flight back to the States the next day. But as we stood outside waiting for a taxi, Lori asked, "Have you ever been to the Nairobi National Park? It's only about seven kilometers outside of town."

"No, I haven't."

"Do you mind if we take a detour there?" A taxi had pulled over and Lori was already opening the door and giving the driver instructions.

"I guess not," I answered, slightly puzzled by the sudden change of plans.

Once we were seated and speeding out of town, Lori turned to me in the back seat and spoke one word. "Hebrew."

I answered immediately. "Shalom."

Lori leaned down and tugged her pant leg up, much as she'd done with mine earlier. The word was written on the skin just above her right ankle bone. I reached down and traced it with my finger. "Nice."

Before she could say anymore we were at the park. Lori instructed the driver not to go in, just drive slowly by the high mesh fence that was the only thing separating the park from the rest of the world. It was a surreal landscape with the skyscrapers visible in the distance and giraffe standing in silhouette against them.

Rolling her window down and ignoring the air conditioning, Lori motioned for me to do the same. The sun was setting and somewhere in the distance you could hear a deep rhythmic sound that carried over the tall grass. Before I could ask, Lori answered.

"Lion. The sound travels for miles. If we were standing outside you could feel the vibration."

It was nearly dark now, so the driver headed back to the city. Before the light was completely lost, Lori spoke again. "Swahili."

I was onto the game now and answered immediately. "Amani."

The driver was too busy negotiating traffic to pay much attention to what was happening in the back seat, even if he could have seen in the dim light. Lori unbuttoned her shirt and quickly slipped it off her shoulders, revealing the word in plain script on her left shoulder blade, just visible next to the strap of her tank top. I didn't trust myself to touch it, so I just nodded and she flipped the shirt back up but left it open.

I screwed up my courage on the elevator ride up to the rooms we had booked. Lori swiped her room key card and stepped inside, holding the door open for me. Accepting the obvious invitation I walked past her and heard the door click shut behind us. Skipping number three and four on the list, I jumped ahead to five.

"Arabic. Salam. Now."

For just a moment I thought she wouldn't do it. There was a flash of something in her eyes and I couldn't tell if it was defiance or desire.

"That's not in order," she pointed out, making sure I knew she was still in control even though she acquiesced. Before I could even blink, both the button up and tank hit the floor. Turning around, she presented her back to me. I was momentarily blinded by the brief image of pale breasts in contrast to sunburned skin and it took me a minute to focus. In that delicate dip just above her hips I could see the word, barely visible above the waistband of her khakis.

Moving closer, I pressed my thumbs into the dip, the fingers of both hands splayed out against the hot skin of her back. Leaning into her, I whispered the last word on the list right before my lips touched her neck, kissing, tasting, rubbing my way down to her shoulder while my hands moved up to cup her breasts. "Peace."

I felt her shiver a little as she unzipped her khakis and pushed them down. Turning around to face me, I saw the word just below her navel, looking as though someone had inked it there in perfect handwriting. I started to kneel down in front of her, wanting to trace it with my tongue. But Lori pulled me up to her, roughly, urgently, and as soon as her lips met mine I knew exactly what the meaning of peace was.