The Sand Is Watching Me

The sand is watching me.

It may be dehydration, paranoia, madness, or some combination of the three, but I know it to be true.

Should I make a wrong choice, should I take one bold misstep, the desert itself will take pleasure in consuming my flesh.

I am not alone, however I might wish it otherwise. The filly next to me hides in my shadow, too exhausted to hop from one hoof to another to avoid the blistering heat of the ground itself. The desert promised all riches and fortune, but struck all down with its blade of fire and sand.

All but two.

Us unfortunate two.

I wanted gold.

She wanted to spend time with her family.

All we got was sand.

My saddlebags are nearly empty, barely a days worth of water and food contained within.