[Tags to
@Draconian ]
Life burned faster, when one obeyed their master.
A feat Atalier did well to refrain from pursuit. He wanted out of the desert, and after coming this far, there was no way he was going to turn back. Not with the headhunters that chased after him, looking to hunt the famed, or rather
infamous Sandman. He would find his own way here, his own life, even if he had to take it by force. Why couldn't they simply leave him be? Why did they have to hound him?
Just when he thought he found peace, there they were to snatch it from him. He was a Tarshal, there would be no peace for him. That was the price to pay for his family's greed. Atalier mounted the hill he'd been climbing, staying low in the tall grass to hide from the wild Horsemen that had seen him in their territory.
A loud whoop nearby made him perk up, as he saw a band of those damn Duhjari move closer to him. He thought he would hide, but they'd likely find him...or trample over his body. Fuck if he'd let them do that. Sand or not, dirt was dirt.
And when they neared, Atalier grabbed fistfuls of soil and threw them up at the trio of horsemen at their approach. The dirt piles turned into large spikes, jamming upward toward the riders and unseating one from horseback. Their cries summoned the rest of their warband, whooping and making chase as Atalier took off down the hill, rounding it as quickly as he could.
His heart raced, pounding heavily in his head, as he dropped and pulled more dirt from the ground, and it ignited into a large disorienting cloud to those that passed through it. He slid down the grassy hillside, and underestimated it's steepness. "WHOA!" he cried out, as he went down and down into a brush filled with bloodthorns.
He was knicked and prodded, tumbling down through thorny bushes, the five inch points tugging and pulling at his clothing and skin. He struggled to free himself, poncho shredding in places, and his hands and arms bled through. Beneath him was a dug out hole, a small burrow he could crawl through if he crouched down.
Atalier got down on his belly, shuffling just below the snagging points of those bloodthorns, into the darkness of the hole. The coolness of soil engulfed his senses, and he hid as far away from the entrance as possible. The sounds of the Duhjari grew louder the closer they got to him, and he held his breath. He could summon a storm, he thought, call the sands of the nearby Moraki desert and flush them out. But no, he didn't know if he could even control it.
Their voices were so close he thought he felt them breathing down his neck. It was close, too close. He closed his eyes, counting. There was nothing more he could do. And soon his breathing was all he heard. He opened his eyes, his hand having gone numb from laying on it. He shook it out, fingers hitting something hard beside it. He narrowed his eyes, unable to see much more than its shape. It was a metal box, buried halfway in the dirt.
With the Duhjari gone, Atalier shuffled out of the burrow, wiping the dirt from his face and the box. He carefully pushed the tin, the metal a bit rusted over, and found it was a jewelry box... And within it was a ring.
"Now who would leave something like this behind?" he murmured, blowing the dirt from the ring.
