The landscape around him had not changed much since he had left his group several days ago. The same dullness of the vast open plains, with the same brown-gray colors and with only a few plants here and there, trying to make an effort to spice things up a bit. It was all in vain, the sadness and atmosphere of long gone times of war and destruction abducted any attempt to bring light and life to this place. It had been days now that he had left, never once seizing to keep on walking, and the wounds on the side of his head as well as those on his abdomen were starting to heal: they had stopped bleeding for some time now. The deep cut on his right thigh though, was a different story. Unconciously, his hand shot to the wound and he cringed when he touched it harder than he intended.
'Choose, Conlàed!' Faridon shouted with his fist in Conlàed's direction. He spat the two words out as if they had been burning in his throat for a long time already, and Conlàed knew he should be afraid. But he was not. He knew he had made a grave mistake when he tried to get to know Maha. She was beautiful, and seemed so sweet to him. He was about the age to choose a wife, and she had been the only one that suited him in the entire group. Conlàed had been foolish to think that the rules about Maha, the daughter of the group Elder, would not apply to him if he showed he cared about her. Maha was only fourteen, and didn't fully understand what marriage and bonding was, since her father had never wanted to speak about it after his wife died at Maha's birth, and he had forbidden every woman in the group to speak to Maha about it.
Conlàed had known what the consequences were. A choice he would be given, an answer of him would be taken. Banishment or battle. Most men who were given this choice, although it only happened about once in a decade, chose banishment. The battle would be one till one of the two battlers - usually the group Elder and the accused - killed the other. There was no other way. Conlàed did not need to contemplate his options any further, he knew that his options were scarce. Unconciously he straightened his back and looked up straight into Faridon's eyes - which was yet another crime against the group Elder. With a soft, barely audible deep voice he silenced the mob around them. When he answered Faridon, he looked deep into Maha's eyes. She stood right next to her father, with a scared look on her face.
'I choose battle.'
Immediately the mob cried out, the women wailing loudly and the men threw their fists high in the air. Conlàed had been a revered member of the group, strong, brave and determined, but against Faridon... wasn't this a certain death? Faridon's face was drawn, Conlàed saw. With one hand he ripped his shirt of his body, exposing his powerful torso that was covered with scars. The more scars a man had, the more honor he was treated with. Conlàed followed him in his movements, ripping off his own shirt as well. The amount of scars he had wasn't even close to match Faridon's.
The men circled each other, the mob around them dashing backwards to make room for them and to allow more to view the spectacle. Maha covered her eyes. The tension was high and no one dared even to breathe too loudly. A strategy quickly formed in Conlàed's mind as he spotted a pointed rock close to Faridon's feet, and he started moving in that direction as Faridon moved the opposite way. Slowly, Conlàed lowered his body to pick up the stone, and at the exact same moment Faridon dove upon him. Conlàed fell on his back and planted his feet in Faridon's abdomen, making him airborne again with one mighty push of his legs and causing the powerless body to fly over him and fall head first in the dust. In a sideways roll, Conlàed brought himself to his feet again, staying low to the ground until Faridon had gotten up. His brow was bleeding and his face was covered in dust, which fell of when he wiped his hand over it. Conlàed had never seen Faridon this way. He never knew that a person could make such a face, the face of a beast so angry it was. For the first time that day he felt a tinge of fear. The first strike was his, but the battle was far from over.
With a roar, Faridon charged again and ran right into Conlàed's belly with his head stuck out like a battering pole: the impact was greater than he expected and he collapsed on the ground. Before he could do anything but wipe the dust out of his eyes Faridon was on him, and his fist made rough contact with Conlàed's jaw. Twice. His muscles flexed and anger incinerated him as he brought up his knee to make Faridon lose balance, and then threw him over on his back. With one hand pressing hard on Faridon's trachea, almomst suffocating him, he used the other to give Faridon the same as he had given him. With the third stroke, he spat out blood and a piece of a tooth, but before Conlàed could finish what he started he cried out in pain when Faridon planted his knee on a very sensitive spot between his legs and spat the remains of the blood in his mouth in Conlàed's face. Conlàed roared in anger and pain, and in a flash he saw the pointed stone lying not too far away from him. Adrenalin rushed through his veins and anger like he had never felt before overtook his rationally thinking mind. He took a handful of dust and stuffed it in Faridon's mouth, punching him in the belly. With unbelievable speed he reached for the stone and before anyone realized what had happened, it had sank deep between Faridon's ribs. Red liquid flowed over the sandy earth as Conlàed got off Faridon, his hands still in fists, turning around to the mob. They were standing as if they were statues, still and with open mouths, shocked faces. A woman fainted with a soft cry.
Conlàed looked at Maha, who had sank on her knees with her hands before her eyes. He walked toward her and put his hand on her shoulder, hushing her. 'I'm sorry, little one,' he whispered softly. He wanted to say more, but a searing pain in his right thigh made him scream out. The pain was drawn on his face when he looked around to see what had happened, and his eyes widened in shock when he saw to whom the hand belonged - the hand that had thrust the same rock in Conlàed's thigh. It was Faridon. His last words were written on his face. Leave my daughter alone. Coughing up blood and too weak to keep his head up, Faridon collapsed on the ground. The rattling in his throat was the man's last breath.
A few moments after Faridon's death, Conlàed gathered his last strengths to pull the stone out of his flesh and to get up. He was leaving. He would not come back. No one in the group needed words to know what Conlàed was going to do. His face was a map, and it showed him his way out of here, but not his goal. One of the warriors kneeled when Conlàed walked past him. More followed. One of the nodded at him, so wishing him farewell.
Conlàed still felt the eyes in his back when he was days away. And he cried.
A shiver ran down his spine as Conlàed recalled the battle. From now on, he would be a loner. He was a group person, but not a follower of the rules. Those characteristics collided and the impact was too great not to have consequences.
The heat was pressing, the sun bit his skin without any sign of mercy, sweat soaked his trousers. His footwear had been lost some hours ago, and now the soles of his feet were burning in the hot sand. A lizard shot by occasionally, and once a long, rope-like animal with relatively large fangs. Conlàed had never seen such an animal, but he was too exhausted to care.
When the air was vibrating, when the sun was highest in the sky and when everything was something else to Conlàed as it seemed, he sank through his knees on the ground, breathing heavily, staring into the distance without seeing anything. This is the end. It must be. What else is there after this? he thought warily. When his eyes finally focused for several seconds, something became visible. Something he had seen several times already, but refused to exist when he got there. An oasis. With a loud groan, he dropped to his elbows and worked his way to what he hoped was the shade and the water. One last time, he would try.
With his eyes closed, Conlàed crept onward. When the heat and the lack of water finally seemed to overtake him and he couldn't hold on anymore, an odd feeling came upon him. The sun seemed less hot, as did the sand beneath his hands. With the greatest possible effort, Conlaèd opened his eyes a bit and looked up. He did not see what he expected to see, which was the burning sun momentarily taken over by a small cloud. No. He - saw - leaves. Giant leaves, like those of a palm tree. It took him several seconds to take it in, but then he realised he made it. This was no illusion, no dream, no hope vaporizing instantly when he was finally able to touch it. He was there, the oasis would be his rescuer.
Conlàed's fingers dug down in the sand when the last energy he had found its way out, and felt wetness. Without further thinking, he pushed himself forward another couple of inches with the last forces of his body, and drunk from the pool that lay beneath the tree.
Although the man was not alone, he was not aware of it. I am still here, though no one sees me. I am still among them, though no one knows it. I still breathe and talk, but no one hears me. I am still here.
The man lies there in the sand, covered in dust and dirt, and I can see him struggling to keep taking the water in. Oh yes, it must be a hard battle against draught and heat. I wouldn't know, but this man before me is the living proof. I sit here waiting until he finally gives up, the moment he surrenders to nature, a powerful being above all. No still living man can win from her, our Mother Earth. Centuries of war have proven that, but still man is too arrogant to see they have lost. They are recovering, recovering quickly from the losses they suffered and the battles they fled from. I am still here.
I know that the man's name is Conlàed, and that he was once a revered member of a small nomad group. His strength and bravery made him an icon for the other men, a loved and wanted husband for the women. Now he is crawling in the dust and fighting to stay alive. There was a time that my instinct and nature would have driven me to kill him, to make an end to his suffering, but that lust is now far from me. How could I ever kill a man with so much will to live.
And so I remain where I am, not far away, not closeby, but ever with him. With all men I stay, until they need me again. For now, my work is done.
[OOC: I am sorry, this is perhaps a little too long xD Hope no one finds it terribly boring...]
