The Desert Kid's Arc

Chapter 4 of 10

The green smudge was gone by the time the second storm hit. Sand came at the Desert Kid sideways, loud as a river. He stumbled toward a shape in the murk — broken pillars, carved stone, half-swallowed by the dunes. He climbed the buried steps and fell through a doorway into sudden quiet. Inside, an old man sat on a folded blanket between two pillars. A small fire burned in a stone bowl. A pack mule stood tied to a column, calm as a rock. Salim Dustwalker did not look up. "Sit. The wind keeps its own hours." He held out a bright woven scarf. "Wrap your face. Morning is far." The Desert Kid took the scarf and sat. He pulled out his notebook to mark the hours he was losing. Salim watched the pencil move. "You count what is gone," he said. "Count what is here." The mule shifted its weight. Jasper Steadyhoof, the old man called him, without turning. The Desert Kid wrote that down too. He tried once to step back out — the wind shoved him flat against the doorway. He came back to the fire. The choice was made for him. He would not move until dawn. He closed the notebook, wrapped the scarf tight, and waited for a sky he could read again.