Towards the Sunset

Heat. Hot. So hot. Sun. Too much sun. Need shade. Shaharah could hardly think through a sun that seemed to all but cook her alive where she ran, seemed to melt her unto the ground that had also seen long years of the sun's harsh anger. Water. Need water. She had to focus, she had to keep moving. Into the sunsets, into the sunsets, away from the sunrises, always into the sunsets..

The Waste, or the Land of the Burning Ground, lay between her and her hope of life for her people, and if only she could survive this damned heat, this blasted sun, then perhaps she might one day live to save her village, save her people. Into the sunsets. Water. Water! She had not realized that she was indeed concentraiting so violently on completing coherent thoughts in her mind that she had stumbled into an ankle deep trickle of a tributary. Abrublty she sank to her knees, throwing her face into the water as if it were a vast ocean, and just as abruptly begain to sputter mud from her lips and nostrils. Hastily she drank, intaking what seemed her first sip of water in ages, splashing a handful of water atop her ragged clothes, which really covered little more than the most sensative areas now, in hopes that the wetness would bring some cool feeling. No such luck. This water was evaporated only momentarily after application to face and body. Must keep going. Into the sunsets. Away from the sunsrise. Must keep going. The sound of people moving, talking, and of jingling of what perhaps might be merchantry in what might be what was the rumored "wagon" caught her ears and she froze.

Shaharah did not realize that her splashing about in this trickle of a tributary perhaps deafend the sound of the approaching band of people, and she blinked to see a large group made of blindingly colorful..things..approaching her from out of the sunset. Terrified, she did not move; perhaps kneeling there still, these people would not notice her. No such luck.

One of the men, older than most by the greying beard and bald head, spoke to her in a soft, soothing tone. Shaharah blinked in confusion, not only for the words she did not understand, except for one she managed to catch - the word "Song", for she did not know their language; but for the blindingly bright set of clothes that he and the rest of his group wore. Was the sun so bright? This man must have noticed the look of confusion on her face, for he frowned and kneeled in front of her.

Absolutely terrified, Shaharah jumped up and attempted to run, but before she could move but an inch, a firm yet..gentle..hand was placed unto her shoulder, and again she froze, though this time, perhaps twas more relief than anything else. She remembered such a grip. Her father used to grip her like that when he would tell her a frightening story. Such a firm grip..such a gentle grip.. Father... She began to sob slightly, mourning her father and the memory that this strange and bright man gave her. Tears leaked down her cheek and dropped with a slight sizzle unto the baking ground. Father..Mother..

Shaharah awoke the next morning to find herself upon a pallet made of spare blankets and such the strange people had given her, staring at a sky only touched with sunlight. Even now, twas beyond any heat she was used to, yet perhaps a slight relief from the baking sun of full day. She stared in awe at a sky as she recalled the feast of beef stew that this woman whom pointed to herself and said "Sabrynia" had made, and the wonderful music and dancing and festivities that not only occured around the woman named Sabrynia's camp, but around the entire camp. A strange people this, all smiles and hugs and tears - yes tears! - all in recieving her to their camp. She was terrified at first, yet as time progressed, perhaps she began to genuinely feel welcomed by this odd people. Why were they helping her? She sat up in her pallet and frowned as she gazed around. These..things..she assumed were the fabled wagons were decorated overly bright, in colors or red and blue and green and yellow, in shades Shaharah had not thought possible. Blindingly bright. Footsteps along the ground turned her attention behind her, and she couldn't help but smile to see Sabrynia approach her with a bowl of something warm and appearantly refreshing in her hand. Sabrynia, who's smile seemed wholly genuine and motherly, who's grey hair might once have had a fair shine to it, outstretched the bowl towards Shaharah and gaver her a hug before departing. A strange people.

Sabrynia was soon replaced by the man who pointed to himself and said "Dongham" who was in turn the man that had approached her at the trickle of a tributary. He had a smile on his face as well, genuine and caring, a smile a father might pass to a daughter who had just done a good deed. She supressed the urge to cry.

He knelt before her and began to speak to her, and gesticulate and point to things to get his point across. This continued slowly but for the entire day, and by the end of the day, she was able to understand his question of "Where do you go?." "To sunset," Shaharah replied shakily, momentarily forgetting the word sunset. Dongham nodded and smiled and spoke "West." "West," Shaharah replied, implanting this word into her mind. Never will she forget the word west. Towards the sunset. To my hope. To my family. West. Again, she felt the urge to cry, and as if he understood, Dongham wrapped her up in a loving embrace.