Eight days of nuthin but sand and wind and the burning cruel sun. Eight days of nuthin to distract me from the awful thoughts running through my head. Replaying the deaths of my kin over and over again, wondering if there was something…anything I could have done to save them. Worrying about Ben and the young’uns. If they were okay. If I was ever going to see ‘em again. If they were even still alive. Sometimes the despair is so overwhelming that I don’t want to take another step. Just wanna lay down, right where I’m standing, let the vultures have at me. But I don’t. I keep moving. I keep walking the flat, desolate lands. Sometimes I come across the occasional husk of a settler’s ruin but I don’t bother to look in them. They’re nuthin but skeletons already picked clean long ago by scavengers. I ain’t seen another living soul. I stop only long enough to sleep, praying to the gods for an evening of rest free from the night terrors, but they come every night. Every night I see their faces, hear their screams.
