Ripples in the Sand

[con68 42]

 

The First Seed:

Spoiler

 

It is not often you find yourself waking up half-drenched and sticky from clinging air. It is even less often that this place you find yourself in is entirely unfamiliar, trees unlike any others you know, water murky and filled with silt from the water-logged soil that makes up the ‘dry’ land. These trees are half spindly roots, their trunks raised from the potential rot that the water would bring any other tree in a land so horribly wet.

 

I don’t remember travelling here of my own accord, so I can only presume this is what Nenar had in mind when asking if I was prepared to work on this task for months. Judging by the water, the trees, and the constant croaking of frogs or toads around me I can only presume this is a swamp - nowhere I have seen on my travels of Almaris so far. The air is warm and thick, uncomfortably so, and given the wrappings of cloth and fur that typically provided comfort are now soaked with dank water and humid sweat, I’d best shed layers to preserve myself some.

 

The dense roots of the trees make any sort of path difficult to eye out, but standing doing nothing but holding this journal and some of my clothes is hardly decisive action. I’ve read in my studies of Mani that swamps are the home of Kri’Ki’s kin, the crocodiles, and I hardly seek to become one of their prey like others failing to traverse this maze of root and mud.

 

-

 

I’ve travelled on this squelching ground for a few weeks now, having repurposed the belt which held my fur mantle to strap my loose clothes to my back in a bundle away from the murky waters whilst they dry - if such a thing is possible when the very air feels wet with the humidity here. I’ve kept to the shallow waters, catching fish as I can with my bare hands for food, clambering over roots and moving from tree to tree in my efforts to avoid spending too long disturbing the waters and no doubt attracting all manner of life towards me.

 

When I reached a larger crossing of water, I realised a threat had been lingering here the entire time without me noticing - snakes. Resting in the canopies above, hanging like vines and ready to drop down into the water at a moment's notice. I observed as one practically dove from a tree branch into the water and chased down a struggling vole that had slipped from its own perch on the muddied roots. Not wanting to join the vole in its fate, or be struck by a snake unseen, I hurried on my crossing towards what seemed like more stable land, the trees thinning as rocky terrain pierced the silt and rose above the dark waters.

 

-

 

This land may be easier to traverse than the water-logged swamp below, but it is no safer. Unstable, cracked ground lacing the edge of treacherous mountains poses its own threats. I have no rope, no gear to stabilize myself if I was to climb the rocky faces. I have always been more at home amongst tall trees than I have mountains, let alone mountains which seem hollowed by caves and caverns. I must follow this fringe whilst I still have light, move along the edge of the swamp till the ground steadies and I can establish some sort of temporary shelter from the elements. 

 

 

The heat has not left me, it continues to warm my skin and draw what little water I carry to the surface in beads of sweat. Stripping down further would hardly aid me, it would only be more clothes to carry and unbalance me on this unsteady terrain. The water trapped in the caverns of the mountains is clearer, less mired and dirtied - and the few gulps I've had have stayed down rather than forced their way back out. I can feel salt rubbing in the creases of my skin each time I return from the swamps and fishing, and can only assume the water there to be brackish.

 

-

 

I know that I am travelling eastwards each time I move along the mountain so as not to over fish in any one place. My destination is still unknown as the swamp continues to flank my north side, and impassable mountains flank my south. I realise that this could stretch miles still, and waiting till I am away from the swamp to create tools from the land would be a fool’s errand. The shallow caverns piercing the mountain’s foot seem like a safer option than the swamp for semi-permanent shelter - and the trees that are not in the water have proven to be dry enough that breaking old branches free for firewood has been easy enough when driftwood has been hard to come by. Some of these trees seem to be wilting in the somehow even hotter air the hillside provides - their lives already waning - taking from them should not disturb the balance any more than the wind breaking them down.

 

-

 

I’ve managed to gather what little I required to build a small camp in the cave - a bed of leaves and moss from the trunks of those spindly trees to rest on rather than the ground which snaps cold at night. It's not much, but it will allow me better rest over these next few weeks as I prepare to travel further east. I’ve found that the leaves of these trees are plump with water, filtered through the trees themselves and seemingly devoid of the salt the water beneath those canopies hold. I’ve gathered some, though with the heat they would be unreliable to take with me as my only source of water.

 

To butcher the fish I've been catching I've been using the broken edges of loose stone, but something more proper is in order. I found a piece of broken flint with a sturdy edge, capable of cutting the vines and through the soft bark of the trees. As useful as it is in hand, I’ve constructed a crude axe from it by using the dried wood and an otherwise unusable vine as a tie. It’s allowed me to break down some of the larger wood I have been storing in the cavern, finally being able to construct a truss for my fire and cook and dry fish en-masse.

 

The Grand Harvest:

Spoiler

It has been, by my count at least, a couple of months now in this swamp and mountainside. I have scouted my east and found a desert lies for me to journey across, hopefully to my home within the Vale and the comforts it brings. My task before journeying any further away from these trees is to figure out a way to store water and carry it with me. It's incredibly unlikely I'm going to happen across a water skin just lying in the mud, and I don’t wish to carry wet clothes with me just for the sake of water if I can avoid it.

 

I’ll worry about whatever else I could have potentially picked up drinking cave water when I’m not in the middle of nowhere. It has been a very long time since I had to fend for myself like this, back to those primal months spent idly wandering the dark to survive - but I remember well enough how to burn wood in place of the proper tools for carving or boring. 

 

It took a few days to find the right piece, and the right supplies to burn out the core of a thick branch to hollow it. I washed it off first in the muddied waters of the swamp, the soot and ash removed so as not to taint any water I tried to store in it. I gathered a collection of flint-like stones from the mud and carved away at the interior till the blackened wood surface was cleaned away - it won’t hold forever, by any means, but it will do, and should allow me to store enough water for a day at a time. The rot from storing water is no concern, only getting away from this swamp before I disturb it any further.

 

-

 

The heat makes more sense now, sands burning under foot if I stay in place for too long. These steppes bare little more than cacti and the rare tree - and I haven’t a clue where to head through them. I know that the desert lies in the south of this land, so walking directly east should eventually bring me to a coast to follow, but the desert could stretch on for weeks of travel without shelter before I reach anywhere like that. I do not recognise these sands or the trees that stand tall amongst them - but changing course without some exploration at least would be foolish, I could be right by somewhere I know clearer in my mind.

 

-

 

I’ve been taking shelter from the sun beneath the branches of these equally strange trees. Their trunks are thicker even than the redwoods I know, yet they do not grow anywhere near as high. The shadows are still welcomed, however, even if they are scarce. The heat here is intense, far beyond the humidity of the swamp or warm steppes near the mountain. I’ve had to strip down further still as I traverse these sands, using loose cloth to cover my neck and wrap my face some to save me swallowing sand carried on the breeze. It's been saving me from overheating somewhat, but I can feel my skin burning each time I enter the desert. The way ahead is blurry, some rippling of heat that obscures my path, but I will persist - the east is where I will head until I find something at least other than sand and stone.

 

-

 

A mountain in the desert was unexpected, of course the unexpected is in itself expected at this point. I’m not risking the climb, or the injuries that I’d no doubt end up with trying it without the equipment I need. As useful as the vines have proven as ropes so far, I wouldn’t trust them to hold my weight against the rock face on the descent. Climbing in this heat carries its own problems, so I’ll redirect - the north seems easier than the south so ahead I will go.

 

I’ve also realised that the cacti here are hardy for a reason. I used the “axe” I created to cut the spines from a length of one of the… branches? I guess? And made a cut, testing a theory that they must store water somehow within themselves since they aren’t dead. I am sure it’d be disapproved of doing this, but if it means not perishing in the sand I will do what I must to survive. Unfortunately, it seems I've fallen prey to a misconception. It's little more than spongy flesh under the spines and ‘rind’, not a bountiful source of water like I believed. It's a good job I made that water store before beginning to venture in here.

 

-

 

The sun is already on its way back down towards the horizon on this trip into the sand, but I have made good progress despite the heat. I can feel my skin cracked and dried out - I have long since stopped sweating but I must preserve the water I have until I am weary. Another source of water will be hard sought here in the desert steppes. I am no longer in the mountain’s hold, though not for lack of trying. The path to the north was not so simple of a way down, a sharp drop but the sand broke my fall at least.

 

 

Further into the sandy steppes to the north I’ve come across a strange sight. What seems to be giant bones poking through the sand - ribs if I were to guess. They’re stripped clean, surface smooth from the whipping sands on the wind. Nothing of use to me, but perhaps here as a warning. Not by anyone in particular, no doubt no man took down whatever these bones belonged to, but from the land itself.

 

I’ve taken the chance as the air cools to dig out a small shelter at the base of one of these thick trees. It won’t last without reinforcement, but turning back to the swamp now with so little light left would mean scaling that mountain side, or wasting hours rounding it just to get back to where I entered the desert. I can feel the exhaustion in my very bones from travelling in the heat, and can use my spare clothes as a bedroll as I go - these trees are few and far between but I should be able to find shelter each night as I continue into the sand.

 

Sun's Smile:

Spoiler

A ram. In all the time I have walked this desert I have seen little beyond insects skittering to their dens and birds flying high above. No doubt vultures have at some point passed over me to check and see if I've succumbed to the heat, or broken a leg climbing. The ram, despite its wandering and digging in the sand covered dry grass for roots, seemed healthy enough. Some source of water unseen had helped it stay alive this far, and now it would provide me the same boon.

 

I approached it slowly, using my crude axe to cut the healthier looking grass from their roots to offer to the animal. It was skittish at first, as expected, but the offering was hard to ignore - it seemed as weary as I was being out in the burning sun. I can’t imagine the wool on its back provided much comfort either. Once it came to me, trusted me, I allowed a moment of prayer to Cernunnos. An acceptance that if not by my hand, something else eventually would bring the end for the ram, before striking a lethal blow against the back of its skull with my axe. That sharp stone edge cracked bone, and the ram dropped against the sand - still, and on to the aspects embrace. 

 

I split the cracked skull apart, using the sharper, sturdier edge of the bone to skin and pry meat from the body, wrapped in my clothing to save it from the sand. The pelt would serve as a better mat to sleep on than my now bloodied clothes. Each part that I could use, I did - a thigh bone snapped in half over a nearby rock to serve as a knife. The blood in part drank, and otherwise poured into the soil of the dry grass to feed it. One life lost, to nurture many. I took meat from the carcass and used the ever so dry wood and grass to build a small fire. A feast, to power me through as I continue deeper into the desert.

 

-

 

I have continued east, and perhaps some ways north to stay by the grass. Each morning as I wake to the rising sun, I collect what water I can from the leaves of the trees and blades of grass. The temperature drops sharply in the dark of night here, a surprising flip from the searing heat I am used to travelling in. I had considered travelling at night, but the lack of light may cause me to misstep and injure myself. I have not wandered so far now as to fail.

 

 

Another giant skeleton, this time a horned head and spinal column in the sand near a coloured stone cliff face. Not a mural, or a site of respect, but another burial ground for a long since killed creature. The bones are much too thick to do anything with, so I continued on after paying my respects to the fallen beast. I headed back towards the south-east, not wanting to wander from my original heading too far.

 

-

 

Another month, by my count, will soon have passed. My skin has not adapted to the heat, still cracked and dry - blistering from burns where I do not cover myself properly as I travel. I feel sand rubbing in my joints whenever I move, but it has become so frequent that I do not have an issue with it anymore. I keep within sight of trees as the light wanes, ensuring that I have somewhere that I can take shelter and rest. I had always thought the desert to be inhospitable, but if life can thrive - and I can continue to survive here - clearly I am wrong.

 

The Amber Cold:

Spoiler

My charcoal supply runs low. I have been wary of fires, as I continue along the savannah. This dry grass could catch alight at the smallest of sparks and the very life I last wrote of could be at risk because of me. In the time since I last wrote I have continued through the savannah and desert. More skeletons stripped clean, half buried and stood proud amongst the sand have marked my way. I realise that this trip amongst the sands cannot last forever - and having some way stone to find my direction will save me walking in circles as the heat fries my mind.

 

 

I have stopped my southwards journey through this valley of bones, and instead turned my attention to this shallow mountain climb to my east. While I have avoided the climb mountains entail so far, being ignorant of the advantage a view so high up would give me on my journey would be foolish, and welcoming the slow death from the heat. The climb seems easy enough, the hill shallow on its rise before meeting a plateau. The sun has barely risen, so the sun is not beating down on my back as I ascend away from the shadows.

 

-

 

 

A strange sight awaited me on the plateau, a small structure clearly man-made. A snapped chain hung from its side, and upon inspection it appeared to be a shaft down into the earth. The only marker left behind is a sign, proclaiming it is the property of the Musin. I have no idea what this means, of course, but judging by the snapped chain I doubt attempting to explore would end well. The summit does not seem far off, and making my hands busy with writing will not aid me in my ascension.

 

-

 

 

Another small structure - seemingly a shelter beneath the trees with an extinguished campfire and some stools. No evidence of anyone around here, and the wind has scattered the ash this high up such that judging how long since it was last used is impossible for my admittedly limited knowledge of such things. Two structures so close together must mean that I am heading in the right direction. Rather than climbing back down the mountain to the bone valley, I will continue east over its crest.

 

-

 

 

Never have I been so happy as to see the structures of man. Sandy stone carved into bricks and stacked tall in a ruined bridge or aquifer. I see now that the bones of the desert are not exclusive to the sand - a great skull towers from the hill below me as I descend, a mighty horn pointing skywards. I was not restrained in my advancement towards the hub of activity, carts and animals a sight for sore eyes - but more so the pools of fresh water with blooming trees around them. My cracked and blistered skin sought the refreshing embrace that awaited me, and so as soon as my footing was more stable I broke into a sprint towards it. I have taken time to tend to my sunburns and sores, fresh water washing the sand and grit from the creases of my dry skin. I drank readily, and plenty till my unending thirst was finally sated, ready to return home along the path I knew well.

 

[WestCarolina 1779]

A small Mali'ame woman awaits by a tree for the return of the Wild Chief, her good friend, eager to hear of the stories about his trials and tribulations. 

[DragonofTaters 470]

Up in the trees, a tiny figure of red crouched. High overhead, a hawk circled, letting loose an eerie call as it flew over the southern straight. Long its journey had been, and a wing dipped to bring the avian down. It circled thrice the small coastal village before alighting near the red figure. Keen were the crimson eyes that sought the hawk’s own. Misty grey lighting them from within. No fear was shown as the two shared the last few hours of the day together. Tales and visions of a strong mali’ame, shared from the raptor to its friend.

 

In the darkness, as moon rose over the southern seas, a proud smile would be seen on the Wicker’s freckled face. “Ayla, Ker’avern…”