Sifting Sand
-2-
Far from home in a place both familiar and foreign, two mostly strangers try to keep their heads attached to their bodies and have little reason to hope of finding their way back. One desperately wants answers, the other is haunted by them.
Date: N/A
My information was wrong. I thought I could get back home this way but I must have made a mistake somewhere. Now, I'm in an even worse situation than before. I thought the place I fell into before was primitive but nothing could have prepared me for this.
She sat by the window all night as far as he could tell. He'd closed his eyes and pretended to sleep soon after they got to their room. Unless he'd fallen asleep, which he doubted, he was certain that she hadn't moved. Then again, he'd seen flickers of light through his eyelids that reminded him of home. Maybe he had fallen asleep. He'd only seen oil lamps since arriving at the inn and the only light outside the window came from the stars above. He drifted into sleep only to be tugged back a moment later by a hand at his shoulder.
Outside, a grey line clung to the horizon. His mind was filled with the unsteady waver of a dream that didn't break when he opened his eyes and it took him a moment to see more than her dark silhouette against the weak light that came before the sun ascended into view. He thought that she had somehow gotten new clothes before he fully woke up but it was the same outfit. It bothered him. It was the same but not the same and he couldn't understand why. He could feel a headache building behind his forehead.
"We should leave soon, before it gets bright enough out that people start noticing how odd we are," her voice was soft enough to pass for the breeze blowing in through the window. Her words jumbled in his head and took a few seconds to reorder themselves.
His limbs weighed him down as he pushed the ragged sheets aside. When had he gotten under them? He wasn't concerned enough to try remembering despite the budding headache. It didn't seem all that important considering the events that led him to that room.
"I bribed one of the innkeepers younger sons to get some clothes but it won't be long before it gets back to his father and that will make too strange a rumor to stay cooped up in this inn," she said as she unwrapped a bundle and handed him a stack of coarse clothing.
"What's so odd about buying clothing?" he yawned.
"If we're travelers, why do we have no luggage? If bandits stole our belongings, why do we have money?" she whispered and glanced nervously in the direction of the door. Her eyes were sharp and her brow furrowed.
Once again he was concerned with how easy it was for her to adapt to the situation. It made him uncomfortable that she could have willingly stranded them wherever they were. He focused on the discomfort to push back the headache and lingering sluggishness in his body. With his mind clear, he acknowledge to himself that right then was not the time to confront her. He had no idea what he was doing and she did. He needed her so he took the clothes and figured out how to put them on.
"The market is our next destination before we leave. I can navigate in the desert but that isn't going to do either of us any good if we don't know where we are and have no supplies," she kept talking to him as if she didn't give a damn that he was half naked in front of her. Her arms were crossed, her lips tilted into a slight frown, and she tapped her toe against the dried mud floor.
The room had no oil lamp, rugs, or pillows. The sheets had been handed to them when they payed for the room. He'd passed other rooms with open doors on the way up to theirs but it hadn't really concerned him the night before. As the light inside the room grew a thin degree stronger, he started to notice the odd coloration on the floor below the window.
"I thought you would have recognized the smell, considering your background," she glanced at the window, "They only realized he was dead when the body started to smell. From the sounds of it, he had a septic wound. They burned everything in the room but some of the smell still lingers in the walls."
His fingers stopped on the rough bone button as he stared at the increasingly visible spot.
"We should go, before we have a vivid image of it to haunt our future dreams," she opened the door and he followed.
"We should leave soon, before it gets bright enough out that people start noticing how odd we are," her voice was soft enough to pass for the breeze blowing in through the window. Her words jumbled in his head and took a few seconds to reorder themselves.
His limbs weighed him down as he pushed the ragged sheets aside. When had he gotten under them? He wasn't concerned enough to try remembering despite the budding headache. It didn't seem all that important considering the events that led him to that room.
"I bribed one of the innkeepers younger sons to get some clothes but it won't be long before it gets back to his father and that will make too strange a rumor to stay cooped up in this inn," she said as she unwrapped a bundle and handed him a stack of coarse clothing.
"What's so odd about buying clothing?" he yawned.
"If we're travelers, why do we have no luggage? If bandits stole our belongings, why do we have money?" she whispered and glanced nervously in the direction of the door. Her eyes were sharp and her brow furrowed.
Once again he was concerned with how easy it was for her to adapt to the situation. It made him uncomfortable that she could have willingly stranded them wherever they were. He focused on the discomfort to push back the headache and lingering sluggishness in his body. With his mind clear, he acknowledge to himself that right then was not the time to confront her. He had no idea what he was doing and she did. He needed her so he took the clothes and figured out how to put them on.
"The market is our next destination before we leave. I can navigate in the desert but that isn't going to do either of us any good if we don't know where we are and have no supplies," she kept talking to him as if she didn't give a damn that he was half naked in front of her. Her arms were crossed, her lips tilted into a slight frown, and she tapped her toe against the dried mud floor.
The room had no oil lamp, rugs, or pillows. The sheets had been handed to them when they payed for the room. He'd passed other rooms with open doors on the way up to theirs but it hadn't really concerned him the night before. As the light inside the room grew a thin degree stronger, he started to notice the odd coloration on the floor below the window.
"I thought you would have recognized the smell, considering your background," she glanced at the window, "They only realized he was dead when the body started to smell. From the sounds of it, he had a septic wound. They burned everything in the room but some of the smell still lingers in the walls."
His fingers stopped on the rough bone button as he stared at the increasingly visible spot.
"We should go, before we have a vivid image of it to haunt our future dreams," she opened the door and he followed.
### End Pt. 2 ###
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