Snippet #2458295

[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose]

92nd Day

Dunes Outside of Protectorate City

The sun beat down strongly on Kaidman and the body he carried. For a mile, he limped as a sharp pain dug into the side of his chest, and eventually he stopped, quickly dropping the man on his shoulders and sitting down. By now, they had reached the entrance to the canyon, the rock walls surrounding a river flowing northwest.

"Ufh," the unconscious man let out as he fell onto the sand.

Some sand went into his throat causing him to cough. Mox tried to wipe it from his eyes, his face was bruised and scratched in various places. His hair had become sandy black, and his throat was dry.

He continued coughing to clear his throat as he surveyed his surroundings. He looked around, unfamiliar with this landscape. He was sure he was no longer within the city. He spotted another man who was on his knees with his back toward him.

Mox got up, stumbling, his legs were bruised. His torso felt battered, he grunted when he stood up. He felt as if he had been through a fight, but he remembered nothing. He was at his forge and then...as he thought about it, his head began to ache.

He coughed up some spit, which tasted grainy because of the sand. Some unnatural coughs followed before he finally reached the kneeling man.

"Hey," he spat some more. He felt like shit, he tasted like shit, he smelled like shit. He rubbed his wrists which felt like they had been grinded against something.

"I'm glad you're awake," Kaidman said, holding his head with his hand. The pain seemed to be greater than usual, not just a bruise, but perhaps even his bones were broken. It hurt even just to wear his armor now, but the river wasn't far now, they could stop there.

"Are you going to be able to walk? I'm not sure I can carry you anymore, I had quite the fight with your captors," the man told Mox.

Captors. Mox looked past the man, he had been captured. Now he remembered. He squinted at the canyon walls, there were bandits. Well, he had been rescued, so it did not matter. At the same time, he realized that he could not possibly trust the man yet.

"Yeah. I can walk, where are we?"

"We're at the Bane Canyon, that leads North and West when it splits, one passage leading to Solaria, the other going around

Protectorate boarders like a buffer zone," Kaidman answered. Finally, he stood, the broken armor on his side didgging into the skin, making it difficult even to do that.

"There's a river not too far from the entrance, you can see it from here," he explained to Mox. "Let's get some water there, and we'll figure out what we'll do about all this."

Mox had never heard of this stream before, it was pretty far out from the city perhaps. He made sure to make a mental note of this location if he was ever stranded. He would have to figure out how far from Protectorate City he was to begin with.

Water, it was reasonable. He was unarmed, perhaps he was lucky to be alive thus far.

"Mox, and you are?" Mox began walking toward the entrance ahead of the other man.

"My name is Kaidman," the man replied. "C'mon now, I know a place a little upstream where we can get out of the heat."

With that, he began walking into the canyon.

"Where are you from?"

Mox moved with a sort of limp, trying to shift weight from one leg to the other and back, "The City."

"You have a long way to go, my friend."

-

On the 92nd day of Jeytelh's Ride, the sun rose just over the horizon. It seemed a bit frigid outside, but nevertheless, Kaidman and Mox proceeded along the desert's vast expanses.

"My friend shouldn't be too far out from here. She's very touchy about people who come into her dwelling though, you may have to wait outside while I speak to her," Kaidman told his new-found companion. "She's what some may call a witch doctor."

Although the distance was relatively short from the canyon they were at to the city, it was long enough not to be able to survive without water. To follow a survivable route took some time.

Kaidman only wore a tan shirt with dirtied pants, with bandages under his shirt on his wound. He carried his longsword still, as injured as he was, though it was sheathed on his belt.

"We're lucky we've made it this far without any... interference."