Deserted

By the player behind Razorback Cliffwalker

So this was it. This is what death smelled like.

On the whole, it did not smell that bad.

Swiftfoot was going to kill him.

From the sky, a carrion bird caught the scent on the air and looked down at the two forms on the desert floor, lying in the shelter of a dune's shadow. On closer inspection, the two forms resolved themselves two large, black, dead felinoids, one slightly larger than the other. The carrion-hunter landed on the carcass of the smaller Demarian, crooking it's neck as it viewed it's feast. It gave the expired creature a poke with it's beak before turning it's attention to the larger corpse lying nearby. A short hop brought it to a resting place on the immense felinoid's shoulder. The bird poked at it's second item menu. Poked again. FLOOSH! A set of claws ripped its spine out before it even knew death was on it's way.

Razorback Cliffwalker flopped on his back and stared absently at the creature that had disturbed his rest. He propped himself up on his elbows as he looked out across the sand at, more sand.

Eventually, he knew, this had been bound to happen. "Tempt the Sand Mother too often and she will have you." That was what his instructor had said.

He reached to his discarded carry-pack nearby and removed his torn water-skin. His ears flattened as he glared at the slain felinoid, but his anger was directed more at himself. He should have been more careful, should have seen the thief coming. Now his water-skin was torn, as was his left side. He leaned over to examine the wound through the large tear in his jumpsuit, a mean-looking gash across the side of his rib-cage. He'd patched it up as well as he could but he could still feel his life ebbing away through the wound.

With a feral growl, he glanced up at the sky. The suns were beginning to disappear and he'd be able to travel soon without loosing too much fluid. Not that it mattered. He was at least four days into the desert and without water, there was not much likelihood of getting back. Of course, it was possible someone would spot him and pick him up, but it was also possible that he could struck by lightning. In fact, it was more probable that he'd get struck by lightning.

No one would be looking for him out here. He'd left all electronic devices back on the Jackal, and he hadn't told anyone where he was going. Of course, he hadn't intended to be gone this long in the first place, but such things happened and people were used to it. With a grunt, the Demarian lurched up onto his hind-paws, rising out of what little protection the dunes gave him from the sun. Demar it was hot.

One step, two, three. Putting one hind-paw in front of another occupied almost all of his attention and energy. Several hundred strides later, he broke up the monotony a little. He stumbled. Not badly, he even managed to recover before hitting the sand, but even that was a drain on his rapidly waning strength.

Hours passed and the suns began their encroachment on the night sky. Razorback took what shelter there was to be had in the semi-uneven landscape and collapsed on the sand.

When he drifted back to consciousness, the suns had already set and darkness had settled on the desert. It wasn't until he made to rise that he realized that something was very, very wrong.

His arms moved, and his fore-paws pressed against the sand to lift his body, but for some reason, he didn't actually rise.

He lifted more strenuously, putting forth all of his strength, only to collapse from the effort as blackness surrounded him.

Awareness returned some time later, bringing with it yet more stinging pain from his side. The oversized feline lay still for a time, gathering his strength for another attempt to rise. With difficulty, he managed to struggle his way to his knees and look around. It was still night and still hot, and he was still surrounded by sand. Worse, he couldn't recall what direction he had been heading in when he stopped for the day. He looked up to take a bearing off of the stars, but his bleary eyes couldn't make sense of the sky and his lower jaw fell against his chest in resignation.

It didn't seem to make much sense to him, but he had the sensation that if he could just regain his feet and start moving, he would get out of this. He would get out of the desert, back to the Jackal, back to Swiftfoot. His rationality fought against the fevered delusion for a time before it crumbled. His body complained loudly as he forced it to stand again. His first step nearly brought him down again, but the second steadied him.

Having nowhere to go but straight ahead, he did so, knowing in his core that escape was within reach.

As step followed step, he slowly became aware of the figure walking beside him. He looked over in surprise to find a slightly shorter Demarian there, black-furred as he was, but with large brown spots on his back. The uniform the newcomer wore showed him to be a ship commander in the Demarian Militia.

"Brrrowncoat?" Razorback asked in shock, coming to a stop.

A flash of white fangs showed as the young officer grinned mischeviously, "You werre expecting a polarr hawk?"

Razorback blinked several times before he turned and kept walking. "It would be farrr morrre likely. You arrre dead."

Browncoat chuckled as he moved to catch up. "Yourr point would be? You'rre not so farr away yourrself."

The taller Demarian resisted the urge to glare at the mirage. "Do you have nothing betterrr to do?" he asked irritably.

"I've had a lot of time on my hands," Browncoat replied with a shrug, "What with having a ship shot out frrom underr me and all."

"That was not my fault!!" Razorback roared, wheeling on the other, his ears flat against his skull. His outburst fell only on deaf sand, however, for the other Demarian was gone. Razorback spun around quickly to find himself once again alone.

Several hours later, the sun was beginning to come up. Afraid that if he stopped again, he might not be able to continue, Razorback kept on. As the sun's rays bled off even more of his strength, his pace became a shambling, stumbling struggle to remain erect. A large rock poked out of the sand, not worth any interest. As the wounded felinoid passed it, however, he found his tormentor had returned, sitting perched on the rock, unaffected by the heat.

"What would Shortsnout say if he saw you now?" Browncoat asked with a sneer.

Razorback stopped and glared at the other across the several yards of sand. "He would prrrobably ssay to ignorrre my little brrrotherrr, he has not grrrown into his teeth yet."

Now it was the mirage's turn to be irritated. "You always have to have an answer, don't you?" he asked bitterly.

Razor rolled his eyes, his tail twitching in exasperation. "Only because you keep inssissting on assking foolissh quesstions." He shook his head, "How many times did Fatherrr have to tell you that even a foolissh kit may be thought to be wise if he keepss his teeth togetherrr?"

"Oh, so you want to brring Fatherr into this now, do you?" Browncoat shot back, his neckfur bristling, "He's not going to take yourr side now. Not anymorre."

Razorback's ears flattened and he turned to stagger away. Even as he did so, the apparition was beside him. "Don't want to go therre, do you?" the other Demarian jeered triumphantly. "You just can't deal with not being the favorrite son anymorre, can you?" he asked, emphasizing the word favorite with malicious relish.

The older of the brothers shook his head as he continued on his way, "I neverrr was, and you know it."

Browncoat sneered as some loose sand gave way beneath Razorback's foot-paws, threatening to put him off-balance. "Oh, of courrse not. You jusst happened to always be in the rright, is that it?"

"Not always," Razorback replied, still staring straight ahead in his chosen direction.

A strange silence settled over the two for some time before Razorback realized that the other Demarian had disappeared. "Good rrriddansce.." he muttered.

As the heat of the day approached, Razorback was forced to halt as his limbs refused to carry him any further. While his head pounded as his brain fried inside his skull, the wound on his side had long since ceased to generate any feeling at all.

Sleep refused to come so the dehydrated felinoid slipped in and out of consciousness until sundown. As the sky darkened, he brought himself achingly to his feet and continued his journey.

"You know motherr is going to have a breakdown."

Razorback did not respond or even look at his psychological assailant this time.

"When you brring _herr_ to meet them," the younger brother continued. That got him an angry look so he twisted it in further. "Honestly Rrazorr, what are you thinking. She's not going to stay with you anyway."

The wounded Demarian shook his head, and instantly regretted the motion. "You have no idea what you arrre talking about, little brrrotherrr," he stated evenly.

"She's neverr going to be what you want her to be," Browncoat returns.

Razorback stops in his tracks to glare at the younger felinoid, "All I want herrr to be is herrrsself."

His tormentor was gone again. So was the night; pale sunrise was beginning to sweep back the curtain of stars above him. Finding a stray boulder in a ravine between dunes, the exhausted traveler curled up beneath it to escape the suns.

The sun was still blazing above him when he awakened. Ignoring the raging protest of his weakening muscles, the Demarian slowly rose from the sand once again. He looked around to take his bearings before going back to sleep. He paused. Squinted. Disbelief forced him to clamber out of the ravine for a better look. Just on the edge of his vision, he could have sworn he had seen ... Yes, they were mountains! Many miles distant, to be sure, but there the desert would end and he would find water, food, and home.

Rationality struggled with impatience as he debated whether or not to set off again in the heat of the day. Finally impatience won out.

Home, he thought, as he resumed his trek across the sands. Interesting that the Jackal had become home to him. And yet, it did not feel strange, even to someone who had grown up with a strong bond to the Land on which he was born. Everything he valued was there. Demar, everything he knew at this point was there. It had been a long time since he had felt at home anywhere, since before the Kretonians had come.

Several hours later, he realized just how big a mistake he had made. What little bodily fluids he had retained were nearly boiled away, his mind reeling from heat stroke. He continued to put one paw in front of the other, willing the mountains to move closer.

But the Cliffwalker house had long been bereft of its authority. The mountains remained where they were in spite of him.

As the universe switched places, the sky became the ground and he was collapsed on the sand, desperately clutching at it to pull himself forward, to keep moving.

"Ah, so the Sand Motherr defeats even the 'mighty' Rrazorrback Cliffwalkerr..."

Ignoring the taunt, the Demarian crawled on.

"If only you knew how pathetic you looked right now."

The voice split into several now.

His mother, "Do not be unequally yoked, that is what my motherr said. And you might as well get used to the idea."

His brother, "So just because you can't be Lorrd of the Manorr anymorre, you rrun off like a scarred kit, is that it?"

His instructor, "You must let go of the distrractions, Rrazorrback. Focus on what is in frront of you to do."

His sister, "Whetherr or not you carre about Demarria anymorre orr not, I ask you to please, save ourr brrotherr."

His father, "We will sserrrve, jusst as we always have. It is not about the possessssions orrr powerrr. Thiss new Demarrria needs uss jusst as badly as the old. We musst grrrow into ourrr new rrroles, orrr fade into non-exssisstensce."

Swiftfoot, "I fearr that you have no feelings forr me. Hell, I fearr that you think I'm -not good enough- forr you."

They continued to bray loudly in his ear, on and on as he crawled, and nothing he could do would shut them out.

After what seemed like an eternity, he raised his head up off of the desert floor. Trees, there were trees in front of him. Trees meant water. He was going to make it if he could just crawl a little further.

His muscles betrayed him, refusing to carry him another inch. As he lay there, incapable of motion, the voices suddenly ceased.

Silence. There was no speech, no identity, no thought. There was only the calm serenity of hot sand and bright sky as the curtain of death drew across the stage.