Somewhere in the Desert
untitled
"I really cannot thank you enough." Ren closed his eyes leaned his head back, resting it against the rough sandy wall of the tiny hut. He slouched comfortably on a wooden bench by the doorway, sheltered underneath a red canvas awning. The sunlight still managed to penetrate through the awning, but was reduced to a soothing red glow. Ren cradled his left arm around his torso, his white sleeves rolled up to the elbows, fanning himself off with his hat clutched in his right hand. After enjoying the shade for a moment or three, he opened his eyes and looked over to his benefactor.
An elderly woman, her wrinkled face darkened from years of sun exposure, sat down on another matching bench, sipping tea from a small cup. She shook her head like a disappointed mother.
"My late husband," she declared knowingly, "would always go out into the desert by himself to visit the next town over to sell the bolts of flaxweave that, gods help me, took me weeks to make. And do you know how many times he was robbed? Six. Six times! That's a year, I told him, a YEAR of work, gone, because he was too stubborn to take some hired guards with him. Waste of money he said. What about my flaxweave! How much money did he lose when those ruffians took my cloth?"
A grin snaked across Ren's face as he more or less tuned her out, glancing over at his horse. Perianth, a sandy colored mare, was tied to the awning post nearby. She was still sifting through the bowl of dry grass the old woman had put out for her. The horse's long tail flicked around happily as she blissfully ignored the conversation.
"I still don't know why YOU were in the desert all by your lonesome," the woman continued, sipping her tea again. "You're pretty scrawny to be out there by yourself. Not like those gladiators. Now THOSE are men. Oh I remember when my husband and I went to Tamas to see the fights at the Arena. Lars, I told him, why don't you train and fight like those men down there? Maybe you can fight off those cart robbers. That's what I told him. He didn't like the sound of that of course. But you, you don't look like you could fend off a hare. Can you even use that little knife?"
Ren looked down as she pointed at the sheathed shortsword clipped to his belt. He shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. "I'm all right with it." He rested his hat on his chest and let out an amused sigh. "Remember I told you, I managed to fend off that unsavory chap outside of town here."
"Barely, I can see. Didn't he break your ribs?"
"Bruised," Ren corrected quickly, keeping up his smile though he suddenly felt defensive. At least he hoped they were only bruised.
She shook her head without returning the smile. Yet there was still a warmth about the way she scowled at him. This woman, a complete stranger until a few hours ago, had shown more real concern for his well-being than he could ever remember getting from his so-called friends back in Karkarem. She even managed to make him feel somewhat guilty for being careless. But it was nice. Her genuine concern was a rare gift.
"Did you need more water, dear? A water merchant just came through here two days ago, I have plenty to spare."
Ren shook his head. "No, thank you, I couldn't possibly ask any more of you." He patted his newly filled canteen on his belt. "I don't want to be a bother."
Earlier this morning, Ren rode into this small, poor desert village built at the base of a large region of steppes and mesas, where red sand hinted at water hiding somewhere deeper into the canyon. He was slumped forward as Perianth brought him in, practically lying on his horse by the time the villagers saw him, suffering from heat exhaustion and pain from his injury. The old woman had offered to give him shelter from the sun, as well as food and water. Ren had told her at first that he'd fallen off his horse, but she quickly detected he was lying. Embarrassed, Ren lied again, saying someone had tried unsuccessfully to mug him.
"You're no bother, I don't get much company since my husband died."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh it's been years, now. But I do miss him." The woman looked down, her face crinkling into a smile. "Even if he was a lousy merchant. We didn't make much money at all."
"My father was a merchant," Ren offered, grinning as he dug into his memory. "He wasn't very good at it, either."
"What did he sell?"
"High quality superfine filtrating quartz crystal."
"What?"
"Sand."
"He sold... In a des...?" The woman stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. Ren laughed too, then clutched his side as pain shot through his chest. The woman, still laughing, cursed at him and rushed inside her hut to fetch him more water.
--Hours earlier.--
Ren dropped to his knees and let himself fall into the sand, clutching his injured side as he gasped and tried to catch his breath. His heart was still racing from the fight, his entire body tingling with energy and frenzied excitement, now beginning to drain away as he rested in the cool sand. Dawn was approaching, and the desert was still bitterly cold from the night before. As Ren let go of the adrenaline and calmed himself down, he stared up at the purple sky, growing brighter by the minute. The stars had begun to fade, and were getting harder and harder to see.
Feeling partially restored, Ren rolled onto his side and pushed himself back up to his feet. A few yards away, a human body was sprawled lifelessly on the ground, a sword protruding very conspicuously from his abdomen. The blood from his wounds stained the sand around him. Ren shuffled over to him, cringing as he still held his side. He anchored the body down with his foot and reclaimed his sword, wiping it on the dead man's clothing before returning it to its scabbard.
"Got me good," he grunted, his lungs aching as he spoke. "But you used the wrong end of your sword."
Nearby was his horse, which had died during the course of the battle. Three arrows were buried in its flesh, one in the hind quarters and two in the neck. Ren's assailant had attacked the horse from afar, forcing it to buck him off.
Meanwhile, the attacker's sand colored horse was a safe distance away, idling there peacefully. As a matter of fact, it looked to be sleeping. Ren looked down at the man's corpse again.
"My horse isn't getting me far, anymore," he muttered, starting to march toward the other horse. "I'm sure you don't mind if I take yours."
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