The red sky loomed overhead with the sun as a bright burning ball of white, casting its shadow on the darkening water of the lake. Breton slid his parched body across black and grainy sand. A sudden wave of heat slammed into the crawling boy's delicate armor and sword, pressing it down into his already profusely sweating back.
His vision was a hazy mess, fading in and out. The surrounding area wavered. He stretched his hand out to pull himself forward. "Forward, got to move forward," Breton rasped.
Breton's fingers were raw and peeling. Black gloves that once covered his hands had become hard and brittle, splitting in multiple places.
The same lake spat out a vile purple liquid, the liquid baked into black tar.
Once he reached the tar, he scrambled to find his small knife. His clothes felt like a blaze that slowly seared his skin. As he pressed his shaking fingers against his clothing, Breton pulled out his small knife.
Delirium had already started to kick in. He slammed the knife into the tar, digging out crystal clear water.
Breton dropped his face into the water, knowing he only had mere seconds left. The warm water felt cool enough to drink. As he drank, the sun seemed to shoot out black squiggly lines. The lines zoomed, striking in every direction. Explosions of sand erupted around him.
Breton's ears twitched. As the lines started to come toward him, he managed to moved just in time. The lines struck the little bit of water he had dug out, turning it back into tar.
Breton stood far enough away to the side where the tar could not reach him. He drew his blade and swayed. His vision faltered, and Breton gritted his teeth. "I need to hold on, I need to . . ." The fuzziness of his head returned full force. He dropped to his knees, huffing. His sweat became droplets that hit the sand and steamed.
His throat was far more parched than before. As he began to fall, his eyes caught sight of something in the distance, moving toward him.
Amir had lived in this torrent world for far too long. His old eyes constantly searched for visitors. He had seen the boy standing on his last leg, drawing a blade. He shook his head, poor child.
Amir glanced toward the bright sun and shielded his eyes. Another round of off-spray was about to start. He moved faster toward the boy. When Amir reached the boy, he picked him up and struggled to carry him.
Amir, through his struggles, began to suffer the same side effects as the boy. Amir's eyes grew heavy. He began searching the lands, and the burnt mountains for any sign of relief.
There was a cave! Amir could have jumped for joy. His weary body started to rush. The lines emerged again. He could hear their zoom through the air. Right behind him, explosions echoed, sand rocketed up, coating them in a thick layer.
Once they made it to the cave, Amir relaxed, heaving a heavy sigh. He dropped the boy. His old back could not take much more of this. Hopefully, the entrance was safe enough.
He dawdled further inside, relishing in the cooled atmosphere.
Breton groaned.
Amir heard him and wandered back over to the boy. "Hello, young man, please drink this," he said, his voice wavering. Amir pursed his lips.
Breton lifted his arm and knocked the small flask out of Amir's hand. "No," he rasped. "Don't trust . . ." Breton tried to stand.
Amir shook his head sadly while pulling out another flask. "I know all too well the cruelty of others. Your strength to survive by yourself is admirable, but sometimes a helping hand is all we need."
Breton wavered. His vision began to slide again. His knees gave out once more as he fell forward.
But Amir moved fast. He caught the boy and gently held him, closing his eyes. "We can only struggle, and surely you have struggled enough."
Breton rested his head. "Just for a moment, let this be true. It is lonely existing and thriving by oneself." After he spoke, memories began to play in his mind of a child who was a beggar, a boy who had to beg his parents for food—the naive child who was led and banished.
"Aye, child." He knew all too well what the boy spoke of. Kindness was a rarity. Amir didn't have the heart or the will to remove the boy from his arms. So, he sat and held the young man.
An uneasy sleep found them both. In the morning they would have to move again, pressing onward. Hopefully, neither one of them would be alone.