The sand grazed his cheeks.

Warm air coiled around him, the sweat on his brow doing little to help. The Ma’Lask he was riding let out a snort in apparent sympathy. If The Man concentrated enough, peering through the sick haze of the desert, the distance would shyly reveal the glittering spires of the great city of Knah-Molas.

The Man wished he was there now.

He could feel the subtle weight of the pouch, gently swinging back and forth as his mount eased its way down the dune. It was a terrible thing, hidden between some fabric stitched together - a cheap purchase from a struggling middle aged man in a poorer district of Knah-Molas, that day had been hotter than usual, and The Man had taken pity on the seller. The patrician of Knah-Molas liked to stress the importance of water rationing, but it was a cruel injustice most swallowed when they spotted the elaborate marble fountains in the richer parts of the city. If any even got to see them. As he paid the few coins of silver, he spotted the seller's daughter, a small, bare-footed, wide-eyed thing. As The Man left the booth he stopped and turned, a brief and terrifying part of himself wanting to tell the seller that soon, soon things would improve. Instead he bottled his words, and watched the seller turn to his daughter, a small smile on his lips as he told her she could get some sweets from next door.

The Man wasn’t sure why this memory, of all that he kept in his long age, struck him near the end of his life. The Man couldn’t recall ever seeing them again. A brief moment of connection to buy something that now held-

The wind shifted. People new to Woestyn would sometimes complain of the silence of the desert. Many lived in the city their whole lives, and in comparison the land surrounding it felt empty. The Man knew better; the wind here could curl over the dunes, uninterrupted by the walls of the city. Foliage would swing in the breeze, russet coloured leaves in synch with its host. The cries of birds in the distance, telling of a world not much different than that of man.

No, the desert wasn’t quiet.

‘Can we stop to rest? The Ma’Lask need to drink.’ The unsure voice of The Man's companion echoed his sentiment, even if that would only ever be known to him.

The Man turned to look at his Companion. He was young - barely into his late 20’s. The Man himself didn’t have many friends - or, at the very least, only unimportant ones. Still, The Companion seemed to respect him, even if it may be due to general nervousness.

The Man stopped to pretend to consider for a second.

‘No’

He saw some of the respect trickle away in the wind, sliding off the other man's expression. The Man knew little about what he was out here to die for. The Companion knew less. They just didn’t have time to stop.