Dedicated to My Grandmother, Who has to live with one of the most painful conditions woman who never lost hope, and to her caregivers, who helped her fight.
The red sky loomed overhead, with the sun as a bright burning ball of white, that casted 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 area around him began to waver. 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 covered hands, became hard and brittle splitting in multiple directions.
The same lake spat out the vile purple liquid, the liquid baked into black tar.
Once he reached the tar, he scrambled to find a small knife. His clothes felt like a blaze that slowly seared his skin. As he pressed his fingers against his clothing. Breton pulled his small knife while shaking.
The delirium was already starting to kick in. He slammed it into the tar digging out crystal clear water.
Breton slammed his face into the water, knowing he all had mere seconds. The warm water was cool enough to drink. As he drank, the sun seemed to shoot out black squiggly lines. The lines zoomed striking every direction. Explosions of sand erupted around him.
Breton's ears twitched. As the lines started to come toward him, he moved just in time. The lines struck the little bit of water he 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." The fuzziness of his head returned full force, and he dropped to his knees, huffing. The 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 a hold of something in the distance moving toward him.
Amir had lived in this torrent world for far too long. His old eyes constantly searching for visitors. The boy Amir had seen 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 brunt mountains for any sign of relief.
Amir could have jumped for joy. There was a cave. 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 then dropped the boy. His old back could not take much more of this. Hopefully, the entrance was safe enough.
He dawdled further inside the relishing in the cooled atmosphere.
Breton groaned. Amir heard and wandered back over to him. "Hello, young man, please drink this," his voice was wavering. Amir perched his lips.
Breton lifted his hand and knocked the small flask out of Amir's hands. "No," he rasped. "Don't trust." Breton then 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 hand is all we need."
Breton wavered, and his vision began to slide again. His knees gave out once more as he fell forward, but Amir was fast.
Amir caught the boy. He gently held him, while closing his eyes. "We can only struggle, and surely you have struggled."
Breton rested his head. "Just for a moment let this be true. It is lonely existing and thriving by yourself." After he spoke, memories began to play in his mind. A child who was a beggar, a boy who begged his parents for food. The naive child who was led, and banished.
Amir patted his back. "Aye child." He knew all too well of what the boy spoke of. Kindness was a rarity. Amir didn't have the heart or the will to move the boy from him. 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, and hopefully, neither one of them would be alone.