Prickling sweat fell down her face and dried almost in an instant, leaving her skin tacky and salty. Dust and sand whipped at her ankles and brushed up alongside her cloak, eager to consume her and any who defied their path. Her companion, Ammon, shuffled up the nearby dune to get a better look at their surroundings. It was their twenty third day of travel through the desert, and it had been too long since reaching the last settlement, the safe havens amongst the sands.
Ammon was a desert traveller, a man of the dunes. Bronwen on the other hand was used to the coast, to lush green hills, and to the capital city that she called home. Having been together for only as long as their journey, one might find it strange that a young girl had such trust in her newfound companion. But he was a calm, kind, and trustworthy man. He had kept her safe, shared his food and his drink with her, and entrusted his life to her, as she did hers.
“I see smoke, and the canvas of a checkpoint flag up ahead,” called Ammon.
She rushed to join him atop the dune, struggling up the unforgiving sand that shifted under each step. He had his own way of navigating the sands that seemed to negate all difficulties: he’d tried to teach Bronwen, but it was unnatural and required a fair amount of effort in its own right, though it never seemed to strain Ammon. Panting rather furiously, she finally made it to his side. He was almost a metre taller than her, and it seemed his height was a necessity in spotting the flag. But she could see the wisps of smoke rising from the sands, dissipating into the sky. She felt her mouth moisten at the thought of new rations and fresh well water.
Ammon began plodding down the side of the dune back to the flatter sands, and Bronwen followed. Each step had to be carefully placed when heading downwards; one placed incorrectly could see the sand collapse and you dragged down with it. It had happened once to her, and she vowed to ensure it never happen again. The fear of being buried alive, the sand covering your mouth and filling your nose, the deafening silence and blinding darkness. Without Ammon’s help she would have died then and there. Carefully, and slowly, she reached the base. Ammon had been watching her descent, ready to help her should anything go wrong again.
She often thought about the kindness of strangers. How her life had been saved so many times up to this point by virtuous people. Her parents that loved her like their own, her first master that taught her to wield her magic safely, her second that gave her a home and taught her to be self-sufficient. Of the raven that she had befriended. And how she had failed each and every one of them.
A first draft for a flash writing competition (500 word maximum) using the prompt '23'.
Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, so I can tidy it up and improve upon it as required.
A link to the competition if anyone else would like to try their hand at it: https://didcotwriters.wordpress.com/
