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The Mirage -- by: Richard (Rabbit) McCord

The Mirage

A finely-crafted suit of plate armor can protect you from many dangers; the desert is not among them. The sun assaulted me with its unrelenting heat like a scorned lover taking vengeance with a burning torch, while the sands beneath my feet drank the moisture pouring from my skin as though it were starving of thirst. I had removed my armor some miles past, dragging it behind me in a large, burlap sack, and I thought for certain the desert would soon be drinking my corpse dry.

A glimmer caught my eye to the east, and for a moment my heart stopped. I am almost ashamed to admit it, even now when I am far too old and wise to suffer from such vanity or pride, but it hadn't been joy or excitement that caused me pause. I distinctly remember feeling hopeless, assuming the desert was merely playing a cruel trick upon me. I had trudged across the sands long enough for it to drain my very Faith; which, for a Paladin, is a sad day, indeed. But I was young and entrusted with my first lone mission, so do not hold too callous a thought towards me.

I began staggering towards that distant image, fearful the mirage would vanish at any moment; most likely just upon reaching it. But as I drew closer, the image grew clearer: I could make out tents, only they appeared more permanent than the types one carried for traveling, and smoke from what could only be a cooking fire if my nose was to be believed, and a well.

A well.

That got my inner fire burning hotter than a thousand of those cursed suns! I trudged faster, my feet, too heavy to lift, digging an aqueduct towards the source of water. My knees and thighs cried out with every excruciating step, but my Will would be beaten no more. I was no longer aware of the heavy sack I was still dragging behind me, or my mission, or any sense of identity at all. There was only the thirst, and the knowledge that the well was the only thing capable of quenching it. I must reach that well. I would reach that well. I was a rabid animal nipping at the tail of my prey, just out of reach of my prize. Just a bit more effort and I would have it. I can remember stretching out my neck as though my head could pull the rest of my body forward just that much faster.

I had gotten close enough that someone from the small village spotted me. They called out to me; I have no idea how many times or for how long, but when it finally registered in my animal brain it broke my concentration and I dropped to the sand unconscious.

I woke up ravenous, my stomach a living thing trying to rumble its way out of my body. There was a bowl of meat and vegetable stew sitting beside me, along with a pitcher of wine; all of this I knew from my heightened sense of smell, brought on by near-starvation. I didn't hesitate to take in my surroundings; I snatched up the bowl as though it had legs and I was expecting it to flee, then devoured the cold stew in large gulps. I used my fingers to draw out every single drop of sustenance until the bowl was so clean you couldn't tell it had ever been used.

My animal brain had not yet calmed itself; I desperately scanned the room hoping to find more. Instead, I found myself in a small, sectioned-off room, empty except for the cloth mat I lay upon and my sack, which calmed my mind a bit. I was under a tent of some kind, with wooden braces set into the ground and along the foundation; a building where the walls and ceiling were made of cloth instead of stone or wood as I was used to.

I could hear voices, and shadows played across the walls as people moved about outside. Without bothering to look for a cup, I grabbed the pitcher of wine and drank deeply. It was overly sweet for my tastes, but I drank my fill none-the-less. Before long, I had fully come to my senses and decided it was time to meet, and thank, my saviors.

* End Part I *


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