The noonday sun beat down upon the desert mountains with unrelenting heat, and for this reason, Livid settled her flock under the shelter of a large outcrop of rock. While her sheep and the donkey dozed in the shade, Livid stood in a high place silently twirling her sling and watching all the land below. The growling of her belly reminded her that she had not eaten any breakfast.
The noon hour was the best time of the day to hunt, for with the sun directly overhead, she did not cast a long shadow that might warn her prey she was standing above them.
Using her hunting skills, the gray-maiden scanned all the rocks and ravines below with her keen colorless eyes. Then suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a rock-hare hopping cautiously out from the shelter of a crevice. In that moment, she let the stone in her sling fly. A sound similar to the cracking of a whip echoed over the mountainside, the projectile whizzed through the air, and seconds later, there was a terrible squeak that ended abruptly.
It was not long before she was back with her flock roasting chunks of the hare’s flesh with pieces of sweet cactus. She had split the end of a stick, and then she jammed the long spines of the cactus into the split. Next, she tied the cloven stick back together around the spines with a strip of rawhide and then skewered the bits of meat and cactus upon the spines. With all that done, she held it in the fire and waited for her lunch to be ready.
Carefully removing the steaming bites with her teeth, Livid ate the poor hare with no remorse, for she lived on the edge of the harshest lands in Riven, and that cruel landscape had taught her the ruthless means of survival, which, in this case, required her to kill her food.
To soothe her conscience, she reasoned that the hare ate the same plants that her flock needed for nourishment, and so with that creature gone, her sheep would have just that much more to survive upon.
After her late breakfast, Livid and her flock were on the move again. They meandered their way through the canyons and over the ridges of the Red Mountains. These were also called the Western-verge because they formed the western border of the Sea of Fire, and they were only slightly less desolate than the great waste of the open desert.
These craggy and barren slopes were the only home Livid had ever known, and she knew them like the back of her own delicate gray hand.
The Red Mountains were also the perfect home for her flock. Those desert sheep were hardier than other breeds, for they could eat almost any green thing including even cactus. Their nimble lips simply plucked off the bristling needles and spit them out leaving the succulent plant ready to be eaten.
When there were only a few hours before sunset, Livid led her flock into the shadowed vale of a canyon. Within the deep gorge there was more vegetation, and the air was somewhat cooler. However, there was a more important reason for them to venture into that particular canyon, for at its end, there was the greatest well of the Western-verge.
Although the canyon was a joyful and refreshing place to Dawdle and her flock, it was an utter terror to the young shepherdess. As soon as Livid drew near to the mouth of the gorge, she began to feel on edge, and with every step, she became more and more anxious. After following the dry ravine for less than a mile, she began to feel positively sick.
When they finally turned the last corner, they came to a place where the canyon’s walls opened to form a wide bowl-shaped area. At the far end of this arena-like space, the Great Well of the Western-verge waited. It was called Sweet-water by those who lived in the Red Mountains because it held the cleanest and sweetest water in all that land.
In appearance, the well was little more than a huge cavernous pit that yawned with a darkness deeper than the shadows of the canyon. Many years ago, this deep well was a gushing spring, and the water that flowed from it was so powerful that it had carved the canyon itself. Now the gorge was dry, and the well was only a wide pit with a bottom that had never been fathomed.
By the time Livid stepped into this open area, she was taking rapid shallow breaths and quaking visibly with terror. Forcing herself to cross the wide space, Livid came to the well and snatched up the leather bag that waited upon a crude wooden hook. As she began to let the waterskin down into the pit’s wide mouth, she never once looked into the depths of the well.
Years ago, she had found that the task of watering her flock was much more tolerable if she kept her eyes on the narrow crack of clear blue sky above the canyon. Since then, she had become quite adept at feeling for the camelhair rope, dropping the waterskin into the well, drawing it up again, and filling the trough.
On this day, Livid was nearly through when she suddenly heard a strange sound echoing up from deep within the well. It sounded like the loud clack of one stone against another.
With a start, the shepherdess unintentionally glanced down into the pit. As soon as her gaze fell upon the dark cavernous opening, her body froze with fear. Unblinking, her eyes were held captive by the black depths of the reservoir. Her breath quickened even more, and she felt as though her heart would explode. With a trembling soul, she tried to back away but simply could not.
It was not the darkness of the pit that cause Livid to be so terrified. Although she knew it had to be her imagination, it seemed as though she could actually feel the presence of that vast amount of water, and this, above all, made her shudder.
The gray-maiden’s fear of water was understandable since she lived in a parched land that had not seen any measurable amount of rain during the whole span of her young life. Add to this her dreadful nightmares of an endless black sea, and it is easy to appreciate her apprehension, for water was a bewildering and awful mystery to her fear-racked mind.
Livid continued to try and back away from the pit, but she still found herself petrified by terror.
Suddenly, she felt someone grab the sash around her waist. Then, very slowly, they began to pull her away from the yawning mouth of the well. After a few paces, she was finally able to divert her gray eyes from the pit.
With bated breath, Livid turned to see who had helped her escape the horrifying sight. To her glad surprise, it had been old Dawdle who had pulled her away.
The shaken shepherdess fell on her knees and hugged the rusty-brown donkey’s neck while breathlessly sobbing into her soft fur.
“Thank you! Thank you!” was all she could say.
Afterward, the gray-maiden sat on a large smooth stone some distance from the well while Dawdle and the sheep drank. Though the donkey had helped her away from the black pit, she was still trembling. She swallowed the lump of terror that had lodged itself in her throat and gripped her staff with white knuckles while leaning her head against it. She felt as though she might vomit, but she managed, in the end, to hold down her lunch.
It is a difficult situation when a person both needs and fears a thing, and so it was for the gray shepherdess when it came to water. She only ever drank it from a small clay cup she carried in her bag but never from any larger container.
While she waited for her animal friends to drink, she fell into an exhausted stupor with her head still resting against her staff.
“Or did I pass out?”
She could not be sure.
After what only seemed to be a moment, the gray-maiden sleepily opened her eyes and was startled to discover the cheerful face of a small lamb.
The lamb bleated as if to say, “We’re done drinking. Let’s get going!”
“All right,” Livid replied with a quivering voice.
Without looking back at the well, the shepherdess gathered her things and roused the donkey who had also decided to catch a short nap.
“Come on Dawdle, time to move on.”
The old donkey only snorted and closed her eyes again. Dawdle was always grumpy when she first awoke.
After the donkey finally climbed to her hooves, Livid gladly led her flock away from the well, and as they turned the nearest corner in the canyon, she breathed a sigh of relief.
In that same moment, a shadow moved within the gaping mouth of the reservoir. As the dark shape silently crept out of the pit’s black opening, it put forth great effort to keep itself within the shadows of the canyon. However, even within this muted light, it was clear that the shape was not a mere beast.
Every inch of the figure was wrapped in dirty tattered rags, and though its eyes could not be seen, it was evident by the turning of its shrouded head that its gaze was locked upon the departing gray-maiden. As the creature moved to follow Livid, a sickle-shaped blade glinted in its mummy-like hand.
