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But he did so with regret, he said, sitting in a wheelchair procured for him by Rasho from a nearby family. He misses the camaraderie of the battlefield and, above all, the friend he made on the front lines, a Saudi man called Abu Hassan, who died beside him in the attack that cost him his leg. He cries when he remembers him and says he dreams of joining Abu Hassan in heaven.

“I never cried when I left my mother in Sinjar, but I cried when I left my friends,” he said.

One of the hardest adjustments, he said, has been seeing women with their hair and faces uncovered. It is an adjustment he doesn’t think he will be able to make when he returns to the more liberal Yazidi community in Iraq.

“Maybe there’s a lot of things I won’t like,” he said. “The women where I am going don’t cover their hair. It will be very hard for me if someone comes to my house and sees my mother and my sister not covered. Or if I go to my uncle’s house and see the faces of his daughters. I can’t force them to do something they don’t want. But when I get married I will not allow anyone to see the face of my wife.”

The 14-year-old girl nodded and said that for her, going without her face and hair covered was something she couldn’t get used to.

“Dressed like this now, I’m not comfortable. I feel naked,” she said, pointing to the black lace dress and leggings she was wearing, more goth than Islamist, that were loaned to her by one of Rasho’s daughters. Her hair was tied up in a pink scrunchy.

The girl was sassy and articulate and talked animatedly about the lessons her adoptive mother had taught her about Islam. When told she looked pretty in her new outfit, she scowled.