fragile is the soul spun of beautiful glass Tamran
He had to keep moving, she might be right behind him. He had to keep moving, he couldn't go back. He had to keep moving, even when he stumbled and fell onto his knees on burning hot sand. He had to keep moving... because to go back was not an option. He kept moving, despite the harsh rasp of his breath in his throat, despite the fact he could barely walk his legs felt so weak, despite the searing sun beating down on his back. He hadn't eaten, hadn't drank, couldn't remember when cool soft grass had turned to harsh grains between his toes.
He looked up, and in the distance he saw salvation, a spot of green in the barren orange landscape that wavered and rippled as if dancing in mockery of his wretched state. Far, it was so far... He placed his feet one after the other, nose nearly brushing the hot sand. He had to keep moving, because to stop was to die and leave his bones to bleach in the sun. He didn't want to die. Tamran raised his head once more, bleary eyes focusing on that oasis, that salvation... and found another, a dark shape approaching, crossing the dunes. Tamran took one step, two, before his knees buckled and sent him crashing to the sands, skidding down the sand dune, the grains rubbing his coat raw. He tried to get back to his weakened legs, to surge towards that salvation, but his legs buckled again.
He could see that shape moving closer, staring down at him, and he clawed at the sands to try and reach it, his head raised up in plea. Tam tried to croak for help, to beg and plead, that yes he'd go back if only they would give him water, just a little bit, just enough that he'd regain some strength in his legs. He tried to beg, but no sound came out before his head dropped onto the sand, sides heaving with exertion.
