Cynthia Clark

Father's Warrior Cynthia Clark

I thirst. The heat sapped the strength from my body. In the darkness sweat trickled from my pores rolling over my skin. It would have been expected in the light, but the darkness? Even the nerves and muscles inside of me smoldered. How could that possibly be? I shivered. Not from the cold for there was no cold. The heat was such that I shivered on the inside. Tingling nerves I would think. There was no one but me. I walked. No. Not walked. Stumbled would be the more appropriate term to use. My feet had not really been cooperating. I kept telling them left, then right, but they followed their own path. I could feel the cuts and scrapes on my feet. I had no desire to look at the blood. It was a wasteland out here. Nothing but smoldering ash and dust beneath my bare feet. I could feel the blisters. I would cry, but I had no moisture left for tears. No release, no relief. All I could do was continue on and hope that soon I would find water and shelter. I thought what if. What if I had stayed where I was? The dead cave was cool and maybe there would have been a source of water if I had explored further. It was too late for that now. Fear does crazy things to people. Oh yes. I had been afraid. Terrified. No. I was better off getting away from there for the Death Owner would return.