Don't Look Back

II. Nightfall

The changeling's hooves scuffed the gray soil, making small clouds in his wake. The heat of the day still beat down at him, even though the sun was large yellow orb hovering just above the flat horizon. Up until now, Icarus never realized how brutal the weather was. On one side, you had the sun baking you to a crisp, and on the other, the moon chilled you to the bone. No happy mediums would be found in the desert.

Icarus continued trudging across the wasteland, covering a mile every fifteen to twenty-five minutes, yet his goal seemed no closer than when he first departed from his home. It was as if fate was mocking him, destroying one life, only to make his second chance impossible to reach. Icarus shook his head, No, nothing is impossible, he scolded himself.

As the sun set, Icarus heard strains of what sounded like a voice. He chalked it up to being the wind, until he saw a small glint of a campfire, not two miles away. How he failed to see it until now was beyond the tired changeling.