“The tribute”

The next morning after my little test we were once again on the move.

I was finally affected by the desert’s heat and barely held myself together to avoid melting. From a side I must be looking like an overheated fox. I am, but at least I am yet to liberate myself from the last layer of protection against the tan.

We were making only a couple of stops per day to drink. Now I fully understood why half of the animals were carrying water instead of goods.

“When we cross that ridge there should be a small oasis. Just hold a bit longer.” The warrior petted my head. After his words I recognized where we are going.

Not that they can put the blame on me.

“GUYS!!! THERE ARE DEAD BODIES!!!” The priest found my handiwork faster than I anticipated. I will take note of that.

The caravan did not stop to look at the dead and passed by.

In the sand there were still traces and holes of shells and bullets.

“Poor souls… the desert claimed its tribute once again…” (S)

“What do you mean?”

“Many caravans disappear just like that. The monsters, the bandits, the nomads, the rivals…” (W)

I looked at the dead. Their expressions of fear, forever engraved on their faces. Their bodies, shredded with bullets. And their unspoken contempt.

I feel so…

…disgusted.

‘They were too weak to survive, that is why they failed.’

“You can’t always be the strongest. It is not the guarantee of survival.” (W)

I did not respond.

Instead, I thought what else can I find. If they are just a bunch of nobodies, then there might be something else worthy of my attention.