The Desert Kid's Arc

Chapter 5 of 10

The fire had burned low when the Desert Kid felt the old man's eyes on his feet. Salim Dustwalker did not ask. He only opened a worn pouch and laid out dried leaves, a small jar of pale salve, and a strip of clean cloth on the stone floor. Beyond the pillars, the mule stood quiet in a small bay of broken walls, hay pressed flat beneath him, a tin of water at his hoof. The Desert Kid kept one hand near his belt. A short blade rested there, hidden under his sleeve. He had not decided yet. Salim worked without looking up. He pressed the salve into the cracked skin along the Kid's heels. The sting was sharp, then cool. "Walking is honest," Salim said. "Feet tell the truth first." When the work was done, Salim wrapped the cloth and tied it off. He set the pouch aside, lay back on his blanket, and closed his eyes. He did not guard his pack. He did not face the doorway. He slept the way a stone sleeps. The Desert Kid sat awake a long time. He watched the old man's chest rise and fall. He watched Jasper Steadyhoof blink slow in the dark. A man planning harm does not turn his back. He drew the blade from his sleeve and set it on the stone between them, blade flat, handle toward Salim. Then he reached into his pocket. The river stone was smooth and cool, gray with a pale band running through it. He had carried it from a creek behind the only home he remembered. It had weighed nothing and everything. He placed it beside the blade. At first light, Salim sat up and looked at the two objects. He picked up the stone, turned it once, and slipped it into his pouch. He left the blade where it lay. "Dawn," he said. "We walk. Stay close to the mule." The Desert Kid stood, feet bound and quiet, and followed him out into the cold blue sand.