Crossing the Red Waste

It was hot. So hot. That was the only thing going through his mind right now. How hot it was. Being a sandy Dornishman, he thought he knew what heat was before, but compared to the Red Waste, the Dornish heat was but a light summer breeze.

Back in Meereen all the other merchants had told him to take a ship to Qarth, that he would die if he went on land. They were right. This desert was a hell on earth. But he had been afraid of pirates, only narrowly escaping a pirate attack on his way from Volantis. He had seen how the slaves were treated in Meereen, he didn't want to end up like them. Which was almost certain when you were taken in these waters.

He stumbled. Hot, so hot.

His lips blistered, the wounds cracking up every time he moved them, bleeding. Even his skin was blistering from how dry it was. He had always been thankful for his dark skin, proud even. Every time he saw the stony Dornishmen or other light skinned people going red like beets under the Dornish sun he used to laugh. The desert wasn't for everyone, he used to say. If only he had listened to himself.

It had been three days now since the last of his companions had fallen over where he stood and died. Even more since he had heard someone's voice. They had set out a group of ten with twenty horses, all of them Westerosi, most of them Dornish, like him. And for everyone of them it had been their first trip to Qarth. Blinded by the riches awaiting them, they hadn't listened to more seasoned merchants. And so they had paid the price. The Stranger had come for all of them.

Hot, so hot. He stumbled again.

When the first man had died, they had buried him in the hot sand. They had dug deep so the wind wouldn't unearth him to be eaten by wild animals. They had buried the second and third one, too. After that they had grown too weak to dig such deep holes anymore, so they had resorted to burning them. Even that they hadn't been able to do for the last three as there was no wood or shrubbery to be found. So they just piled rocks on top of the bodies, entombing them.

In truth, he hadn't even noticed his last companion dying. They hadn't been talking for days on end, as it hurt to even move your lips. So he hadn't noticed when there was no one walking behind him anymore. He had heard the horse's steps in the sand and taken them for his companion's. He only noticed he was alone when he had stopped for the night to make camp. His companion was nowhere to be seen. He might have died shortly after they had started for the day or just ten minutes ago. There was no way to tell.

He felt a sting of remorse for not burying him or seeing him out of this world. Then again, no one would do that for him either. He had no illusion of getting out of this desert. He would die here like the rest of his companions. Fools, the lot of them. Thinking they knew better than seasoned travelers. All because they grew up in another desert.

He laughed. His throat hurt with how dry it was, but he couldn't stop. His lips cracked open and started to bleed again, but he still couldn't stop. Great, now he was going hysterical! Everything was just so absurd. Him, born in a desert, should die in a desert. It was almost poetic.

Then he froze. What was that on the horizon? Just a small thing, sticking up into the air. He turned towards it and slowly marched on. Was that... a tree? He got closer. That definitely looked like a tree. A tree meant water, but...

He was weary, as he knew that the desert could play tricks on you, especially in the state of mind that he was in right now. The closer he got however, the bigger that small kernel of hope he had allowed to form inside him grew. It was a tree! A palm tree! A tree meant water! He fastened his pace.

By the time he got to the tree he was almost running. He fell to his knees and started digging with his hands. There had to be some water close by, there had to be! But no matter how deep he dug, the sand stayed dry. He looked up at the palm tree. Then he saw the leaves. They were brown. All dried up and hanging down the sides. He wanted to scream. To cry. Too let out all his disappointment and anger. But he had no power left. His last bit of hope had been destroyed.

He crawled up to the palm tree and leaned his back against it. He stared off into the distance. This was the place he was going to die at. All alone. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of dirt and sand.

Hot, so hot.

The water had run out two days ago.

- - - - - ☆☆☆☆☆ - - - - -

Sorry for this rather depressing piece of writing, but it's what my mind came up with. I hope you enjoyed it anyway :sweat_smile:

#AcrossTheNarrowSea

#InTheRedWaste