It burned against my chest, the beautiful, cursed thing. Its weight pulled at the string around my neck from which it hung, taunting, daring me to find her. My steps crunched the dried grass to dust, a dim sun struggled to pierce the everlasting amber haze, and still it goaded me on.
I took a drink from my canteen. One swallow, no more. Conservation was key to surviving the plains; conservation and avoiding the raiders. … continue reading at Vocal
