#I hear the moutains calling me and i must go *runs into the boulder and jumps repeatedly*

[tomahawk-swing]

Evening Sun

Synopsis : Part 2 of Dingo’s journey away from his village. He hits trouble as his environment drastically changes, the forest he’s always known suddenly replaced by a ruthless desert. Unprepared, Dingo is easily defeated by the atrocious heat ... But his luck hasn’t completely run out.

Part 1 / Part 3

Word Count : 9055

  After so many days spent in the shade of trees, Dingo had forgotten how hot September days could be. As he kept travelling through the forest, the trees became more scarce, and the earthy ground turned to sand. The days were scorching hot, and the nights bitterly cold.

Before he knew it, Dingo had walked into a desert.

His supplies of food were growing thin, but he had stacked up more meat and berries during his time in the forest. The real problem was be water. Dingo had relied on ponds and rivers to refill his three pouches, but after a single day spent in the desert, he was left with only one pouch, and no source of replenishment in sight.

When night came, Dingo took shelter near the large rocks that occasionally stood in the middle of the sand. He laid out his thin mattress on the still warm sand, and wrapped himself in the hand-sewed blanket he had brought - but even this wasn't enough to fend off the cold. Summer had barely just ended, but seasons didn't seem to have any meaning in the desert.

On the morning of his third day in the desert, Dingo woke up with a burning thoart, and a pounding headache. He nibbled on a piece of dried meat, but his appetite had long died out. Only remained thrist, that turned his tongue into paper, and cracked his lips until they bled.

The boy allowed himself a single sip of water, before he packed his belongings, and returned to following his tomahawk's instructions. He would sometimes meet a lonely road, which he guessed was the only one that stretched across the desert. In two entire days of travelling, he hadn't seen a single car. The asphalt was cracked all over, and seemed close to melting under the unbearable heat. Dingo found himself daydreaming about cooking steak on the scorching hot asphalt.

Dingo could not tell how many hours were passing. His brain only processed the mechanical movement of putting one foot in front of the other, while his bag seemed to get heavier at each step he took. At what he estimated to be midday, when the sun was almost at its peak, Dingo took a break in the shadow of another boulder. He gulped down the rest of his water, along with his last pack of berries. He gave his blistering feet a bit of fresh air, wishing he had so much as a little pond of water to dip them into.

If he wasn't able to find a source of water within the end of the day, his trip would come to a much earlier end than planned.

Fueled by pure determination only, Dingo returned to walking. The road he had joined again stretched out infinitely in front of him, surrounded on both sides by the endless desert. The moutains he had come from were nothing but a dark shape in the background, blurred by the heat that radiated from the ground.

Each breath Dingo took felt like a needle piercing through the skin of his throat, the burning sensation then spreading to his chest, filling his mouth with the taste of blood. He hadn't taken off his sweater, to avoid sunburns as much as possible, but his hood couldn't completely conceal his face from the ruthless sun.

Dingo didn't even realize that his vision was starting to black out. The sand reflected the sunlight as if the ground was covered with mirrors, blinding Dingo until he couldn't even make out the dark lane of the road anymore. 

Even his stubborness couldn't outstrip the limits of the human body. Dingo was already unconscious by the time his face hit the sand.

The heat had won.

     The first thing Dingo registered, when he slowly opened his heavy eyelids, was that he couldn't see anything around him. His eyes were unmistakeably open, but he was surrounded with pitch darkness.

I'm dead. I'm dead, but something went wrong, and my spirit's stuck somewhere. This is bad. The boy mentally panicked. The simple act of thinking made his head throb. Wait ... I can't get a headache if I'm dead.

Along with this realization, the boy started to make out some elements in his environment, as his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness. He was in a dimly lit room, laying in a rather comfortable bed, with the covers tugged up to his chin. The boy tried to move his arms, but all his limbs felt numb. The skin of his face and lower legs stung with what he guessed were sunburns, but he could also feel a layer of soothing cold above the burning sensation, as if his skin was covered in lotion.

Slowly, Dingo managed to remember how he could have landed in such a place. He must have passed out from thirst in the desert, but somebody had found him, and brought him to their home. From what he could see, the room didn't look like a hospital, though he couldn't be certain. He had never been to a real hospital before.

When he tried to sit up, Dingo's muscles protested against the strain he was putting them under, and only allow him to turn to his side. This gave him a better view of the room - it looked rather small, its single window obstructed by thick curtains, and a wardrobe facing the bed, right next to the door.

After his failed attempt at moving away from his bed, Dingo had no other choice but to wait and see if anyone would show up. He didn't even try to speak up ; his throat was still on fire, and he doubted that his vocal cords still functioned at all.

Dingo took a moment to examine the outfit he'd been left in. He couldn't see the outline of his headband, nor feel his hood, or any sleeves. His guess was that the rescuers had left him in his tank top, and his usual shorts. The blanket he was covered with was quite thin, and he felt neither cold nor overly warm.

A moment of uncertain length passed, during which Dingo was unable to fall asleep again. He was too curious to discover the identity of his savior.

The door suddenly creaked open, and Dingo's gaze shot towards it. He was blinded by the light that flooded the room, and raised a hand to cover his eyes, hiding the face of the person who'd just entered.

"Oh, you're awake ! Honey, the boy woke up !" An unknown, gentle voice called. As Dingo lowered his hand, he saw that it belonged to an elderly woman. Curly white hair encased her face, but she looked healthy, despite her obviously old age.

"We were worried about you, sweetie. You slept for almost two days, and you were in such a bad state … Oh, sorry, you surely don't want to hear me ramble right after you woke up." The old lady sounded energetic and kind, an impression strengthened by the warm smile that graced her features. Dingo noticed that she was holding a glass of water, towards which he instinctively reached out.

"Oh, of course, you must be thirsty ! We tried to make you drink, but it wasn't simple, since you were still asleep … And I've made enough food for you as well, if you're hungry. We're having roast chicken and fries, all home bred and cooked !" The woman seemed to understand that Dingo couldn't talk yet, and handed him the glass of water.

The boy thanked the lady with a warm smile. He gulped the glass of water down in a single go, after he'd managed to sit up against the end of his bed.

"Thanks." He croaked, in a voice that he barely recognized as his own. He immediately started to cough, and felt the taste of blood fill his mouth again.

"Shh, do not strain yourself. I'm going to get you some more water, and you will talk when you feel better." The woman suggested, as she gently took the glass of water from Dingo's hands.

The sudden silence let Dingo truly realize how lucky he had been. He had no way to tell how much time had passed between the moment when he'd lost consciousness, and the moment when the woman or her husband had found him, but it must have been a close call. He had long lost track of time, but he guessed that about two weeks had now passed since he had left his village.

The woman soon returned, holding a full glass of water in each of her hands.

"Here you are." She handed him the first glass, and waited until he was done to give him the second one. "Are you hungry ? I can bring you the food here. It will be ready soon, after my husband is done preparing the chicken."

Dingo emptied the two glasses in a slower fashion than before, and was finally able to speak up more properly.

"I think I can stand up. Thank you so much …"

"You're welcome, son. I'm really glad to see you doing a little better." The woman looked about to ask something, hesitated for a second, and chose to say something different. "You don't have to explain anything yet. Just eat and rest, and you'll see if you feel like telling us your story. I'll be in the kitchen, but take your time !"

With these words, she gave Dingo another broad smile, and took the glasses back before leaving.

     Dingo had to resist the urge to flop back on the bed ; he doubted that he'd be able to sit up again, if he laid down. Instead, he gathered all the strength he could find in his wobbly legs, and took support on the wooden edge of his bed.

As he managed to stand, Dingo finally noticed the scent that came from the corridor. He recognized roast chicken, and the smell of fried food. It corresponded to what the woman had announced, and only motivated Dingo to keep moving.

Each of his steps was slow and unsteady, but he made it safely to the door. The wooden floor was cool under his bare feet, and his eyes had already adjusted to the light that flooded the corridor. The walls where all painted white, and ornated with numerous pictures. Dingo recognized the old woman, and guessed that the elderly man that often appeared next to her was her husband. There were a few younger adults, and numerous children. Their kids and grandkids. Dingo guessed.

The room Dingo had been sleeping in was at the very end of the long corridor. On his way to the other end, Dingo found the toilet, a bathroom, and another empty room. The last door was closed, and Dingo didn't dare open it. It was probably the couple's bedroom.

The corridor ended on a large living room that stretched to the right, furnished with a broad dinner table, comfortable-looking sofas, a small TV and many bookshelves and wardrobes. The room was flooded with light from the large glass windows the opposite wall was made of, and Dingo could see a terrace outside, with a table set for three, and a roller shutter hanging over it.

Dingo had a moment of hesitation, before he noticed two other doors. The one on his left seemed to be the main entrance door, but there was another door, facing the end of the corridor, that certainly led to the kitchen. The scent of chicken and fries came from there, luring Dingo inside.

As Dingo pushed the door open, the smell of food overwhelmed his senses, making his stomach growl in response. He closed his eyes for a second to take a deep intake of breath, as if to feed on the scent alone.

"Oh, you stood up !" The old lady exclaimed, bringing Dingo back to reality. "You can go take a seat outside. Don't worry, it's not too hot."

Dingo looked ashamed for a second, his cheeks heating up under the feeling. His gaze then embraced the kitchen, and he finally noticed another presence. The boy recognized the short-haired man from the pictures, who sat at a small table, preparing the chicken. He looked to be quite tall, and handled the pieces of meat with large, strong hands. His lined traits were the only reminder that he was about as old as his wife, along with his long, silver hair, tied in a ponytail that reached below his shoulders.

The man and the boy exchanged a silent glance. Dingo felt some kind of connexion to him, one that he couldn't explain. Not only their skin tones were similar, but there was something else. A resemblance that neither could quite place, as they stared at each other in silence.

"Oh, I realise that we haven't introduced ourselves yet !" The woman suddenly exclaimed, cutting short to the other two's mutual observation. "I'm Mary, and this is my husband, Bill. He's not very talkative, but he's a good man. Please, don't be intimidated."

The man merely added a nod, while Dingo gave the couple a small smile. He wasn't easily impressed, but the man's presence was quite imposing.

"I'm Dingo. Nice to meet you." The boy replied, mechanically reaching up to tug on his hood. When his hand met his hair, he remembered that he was only wearing a tank top, and let his hand drop to his side, looking away in embarassement.

"Erm … Can I do anything to help prepare the meal ?" Dingo suggested, daring to look up at Mary again.

"Oh, no, no ! I said no straining yourself, remember ? Everything is almost ready, and we have enough hands to carry everything to the table !" The old lady replied, still with the same kind smile.

Dingo would usually have insisted, but he knew that his legs wouldn't bear his own weight for much longer. He could see a door leading outside at the other end of the narrow kitchen, but preferred to go through the living room, to avoid bothering the couple.

The glass window slid open easily, and Dingo let himself drop in the closest seat that had a plate ready. As Mary had said, the air outside was much cooler than Dingo last remembered.

Dingo took the time to observe at his surroundings, and realised that he couldn't see any sand close by. A long garden with scarce, yellowish lawn stretched behind the house, with a vegetable garden at the end, a henhouse, and a wooden cabin. Several large trees provided many spots of shadow across the garden, and a colorful hammock hung between the two most sturdy-looking ones.

There were other houses close by, and behind them, Dingo finally spotted the desert in the background. This village looked relatively small and quiet ; it was probably located at the very edge of the desert.

"It's quite a nice place, isn't it ?" The old woman's voice made Dingo jump, but she pretended not to have noticed, to avoid him more embarassement.

"I've lived here for my entire life. This house used to be my parents', and my grandparents' before." She explained, and set down the plate of fries she had just brought. Without asking, she took Dingo's plate, and filled it with a rather large quantity of fries.

"It's … Really nice. Thank you !" Dingo replied, before he reached out to take the plate back from Mary's hands. He was overwhelmed by the woman's kindness, and many questions burnt to his lips - but his stomach was still growling, and he decided to keep them for later.

The boy tamed his hunger as he wait for Bill to join the table, with a large meat dish containing neatly cut pieces of chicken. The man sat at the edge of the table, letting his wife to take the seat across Dingo's.

"Would you prefer a piece of white meat ? Or a wing, maybe ?" Mary suggested, taking Dingo's plate again.

"Some white, please." Dingo would usually have picked a wing, and eaten it with his bare hands, but he suddenly found himself caring more for manners than usual. He didn't want to make a bad impression on his rescuers.

As soon as his plate was returned, Dingo attacked his meal with obvious hunger. He hadn't eaten in several days, after all.

     The first part of the meal passed in silence. When Dingo's plate started to empty, Mary refilled it with fries, without giving Dingo the time to ask for seconds.

Dingo noticed that the old lady looked about to start drowning him in questions, and took his time to eat the second serving. He finally felt ready to open up, and knew that he could trust the elderly couple.

"So, Dingo …" Mary finally started, after everyone had finished their plate. "You must be wondering how you ended up here. Bill is the one who found you, on his way back from an errand. He decided to bring you here, rather than to the closest hopsital, because it's still quite far from here."

"I thought of alerting the police …" She added, and noticed Dingo flinching. "But I didn't do it. I figured that it was better to try and get some answers directly from you, if you woke up within two days. I was ready to make a call this afternoon, but you decided it otherwise."

The look of fright quickly faded from Dingo's face. He gave the woman a grateful smile, and let her finish her speech.

"You don't have to tell us everything, but I'm sure that some people are worrying about you … I allowed myself to take a look at your backpack, to see if I could find any papers, and couldn't help but realize that you looked ready for a very long trip. If you have run away from home, your parents might be worried … I won't force you to go back, but we should at least let them know that you're alright."

Dingo's expression darkened again, though not for the same reasons. He looked down at his lap, and took a moment to select the right words.

"… Don't worry. My parents … They're not worried about me." He knew that he wasn't being very clear, but hopefully, the couple would understand.

That was without taking Mary's curious and overly considerate nature in account.

"Oh, sweetie … Were they not treating you well ? Is that why you fled from home ?"

The boy quickly glanced up at the old lady, and decided that she deserved blunt honesty. There was no point in lying to her. He owed her his life, after all.

"… My parents are dead. It's been a year, and I … I didn't want to stay at my village anymore. I felt like I was meant to be somewhere else. So I … I fled." It was the right word, even if it made him sound like a coward.

"I want to keep travelling, until I find a place that suits me. I'll try to find small jobs, and make some money to keep travelling. I know how to take care of myself … I just didn't expect to end up in the desert."

The truth was, he had no idea what kind of roads awaited him. He had only assumed that his tomahawk would lead him onto the right path, until he finally found a place that felt right.

The couple exchanged a look, and Mary reached out to take Dingo's hand across the table.

"I'm really sorry to hear this, Dingo … It must have taken a lot of courage for you to take your leave. You can stay here and rest for as long as you wish. We'd be happy to help you with your journey."

Dingo was once again taken aback by the honest gentleness in the old lady's words. Before he even knew it, he was squeezing her wrinkled hand lightly.

"… It's fine. I don't think it was a very brave move, honestly … But it felt like the right thing to do, and my instincts are never wrong."

The last sentence had Bill perk up, and look at the boy with renewed interest, but Dingo didn't notice that he had caught the man's attention.

With another bright smile, the woman took her hand away, and started to collect the empty plates. Dingo rushed to help her, and carried the empty plate of fries back to the kitchen.

"I have ice cream in the freezer. It's leftovers from what I bought for my grandchildren this summer, but I hope you'll find something you like. Or you can bring all the boxes, and we'll make our pick. I think it could do us some good too."

The boy set the plate by the sink, and gave the woman a nod. He opened the upper part of the fridge, and found three boxes of ice cream - chocolate, mango, and even his favorite flavor, caramel.

"Did you find anything you like ?" Mary asked, when Dingo returned with the three boxes. She had prepared a cup and spoon for each person, along with a glass of warm water to clean the serving spoon.

"Yes ! I love caramel !" Dingo replied with enthusiasm, and returned to his seat. He already felt a lot more energetic than an hour before ; he didn't doubt that it was thanks to the excellent food.

"It's Bill's favorite too ! But the kids usually prefer chocolate. And I like mango better, it's more refreshing." Mary explained, as she poured two large scoops of caramel ice cream in Dingo's cup. She served some more caramel for her husband, and helped herself with a single scoop of mango.

Dingo devoured his ice cream in silence, relishing on the soothingly cold sensation that spread down his sore throat. The nasty thoughts from before were washed away by the sweet taste, and the boy returned to smiling, much to the old lady's relief.

"Why don't you take a good shower next ? The bathroom is the second door to the left, in the corridor. You can take towels from the warbrobe you'll find there. And if you need more lotion for your sunburns, I left the tube in your room. Oh, and I also handwashed your clothes. You have a really nice sweatshirt !"

"I'll do that." Dingo replied, with a quick nod. "And thanks … Thanks for everything."

Dingo couldn't even start to mentally list all the reasons he had to feel grateful. He wondered if this was how every grandparent behaved towards their grandchildren. The boy's mother had always been in a feud with her parents, so Dingo had never met his maternal grandparents. His paternal grandmother had passed before his birth, and he only had vague memories of the only grandfather he'd ever met. The old man had passed away from illness when Dingo was 5, during a particularly rough winter, when the roads that led to the village had been completely blocked by snow.

Dingo had to shake off his thoughts, before he brought the boxes of ice cream back to the freezer, and returned to the room where he'd been sleeping. He found his sweater neatly folded inside the wardrobe, where his backpack had also been stored.

The boy picked a clean change of clothes from his bag, along with the lotion, and looked for the bathroom. He had already forgotten Mary's instructions, but he luckily found the right door on the second try.

The bathroom wasn't very large, yet quite functional. A wide sink faced the door, and the wardrobe was on the left. The right side of the room was entirely taken up by the bathtub, hidden behind a curtain, so that it could also serve as a shower.

Dingo usually liked to take scorching hot showers, but his sunburnt skin convinced him otherwise. He let the water clean off the dirt of the desert from his scorched skin, and felt a lot better when he stepped out.

Once he was dressed up in clean clothes, Dingo decided to give his burns a better look. He had to wipe the mist from the mirror above the sink, only to realise that his skin had started to peel in places, notably at the tip of his nose.

He applied a thick layer of lotion across his face, and also on his calves. His clothes had done a good job at protecting the rest of his skin, but his entire body still ached from dehydration.

Dingo dried his hair with a smaller towel, which he kept on his shoulders after he had dressed up. He pulled on his precious sweater, but let the hood down ; for once, he didn't feel the need to wear it.

He folded his old clothes, and brought them to his bedroom. He realized that he hadn't seen his tomahawk around every since he'd woken up, and looked around the small room, feeling a sudden pang of dread well up inside his chest. What if Bill hadn't found it by his side, and it was lost in the immensity of the desert ?

The moment of panic didn't last. Dingo found his tomahawk under his backpack, and tied it behind his back again, under the poncho part of his sweater.

He considered taking a nap, but thought that he should better ask if his rescuers didn't need any help with their daily tasks. He was quite handy when it came to gardening or fixing things, and even if Bill seemed to have a lot of skill in those fields as well, Dingo hoped that the old man wouldn't refuse a pair of extra hands.

Not only he was willing to help, but Dingo also wanted to understand why he felt such a peculiar connexion to the man. It went beyond the knowledge that he owed Bill his life, as if they already knew each other beforehand.

     The boy made his way down the corridor again, with a lot more ease than last time. He wasn't at the top of his strength, but at least he no longer felt like he was about to pass out.

He found Mary sitting in the living room, watching a show on the old TV.

"Was the shower warm enough ? We have problems with the water heater sometimes, but Bill said he would look at it soon." She asked, always looking to have something she felt concerned about.

"It was just fine ! I didn't need very hot water, anyway." Dingo hurriedly replied, still unable to shake off his slightly unease at being babied.

"Mrs. Mary …"

"Mary is just fine, sweetie."

"… Mary. I was wondering if I could help you or Mr… Or Bill with something. I feel good enough to do some handiwork, or maybe help with the garden … And it's all I can think of to thank you for everything."

The woman lowered the sound of her show, and turned to face the boy.

"You don't have to thank us for anything, Dingo ! It was only natural that we helped you out. Bill wasn't going to let you burn in the desert ! I have already cleaned the kitchen, but Bill is working outside. I'm sure he would appreciate your company."

Dingo gave the woman a bright smile, feeling happier than he had in many months.

"I'll go ask him, then ! Thank you so much for everything, Mary. You're a wonderful person."

"You're welcome, son."

Dingo hurried to the glass door, and closed it tight behind him. It was much warmer outside, so he guessed that the couple was trying to preserve the fresher atmosphere of the house.

The sun didn't burn as badly as he remembered from the desert, but it was still enough to make Dingo raise a hand in front of his eyes. He walked across the dry lawn, and found the old man working in the vegetable garden. Bill was attaching small sticks to the last tomato plants of the season, to help them support the large fruits they carried.

Dingo found himself feeling extremely nervous, all of a sudden - but now that he'd come so far, it would be silly to turn back.

"Excuse me, Bill … I was wondering if I could help you out with something. I want to thank you for what you've done for me, and I-"

"You can keep the speeches for my wife, kid. I understand." The man interrupted him, without looking away from his work. "Help me with those tomatoes. There's an entire row left to fix."

The man's blunt words contrasted greatly with his wife's tone, but Dingo strangely felt less intimidated already. He simply nodded, and grabbed a pack of sticks from the pile next to Bill. When he was about to ask what the old man used to make the plant and sticks hold together, he noticed a ball of thin rope by the sticks. The man was already wielding one, so Dingo picked the second ball up, smiling knowingly. Bill had probably guessed that Dingo would come to offer his help at some point.

Dingo use his tomahawk to cut small pieces of rope, with careful gestures. He progressed at a rather fast pace, but the row of tomatoes was longer than he'd realized. Dingo counted thirty plants, and the sun was already getting to his head by the time he was done.

The old man was quick to notice Dingo's discomfort. "It's getting too hot. No point in working. We'll go back at it when it's cooler." He decided, and went to put away his tools in the wooden cabin.

Dingo followed him inside, awestruck by what he found inside the small room. He couldn't name all the tools that were neatly sorted on the walls and shelves. Bill seemed to be working on multiple projects at once, one on each work surface that lined up against the cabin's walls.

After he'd handed his rope and remaining wooden sticks to Bill, Dingo exited the cabin backwards. His father used to have a smiliar workplace, but the man had been able to do a lot with a few select tools. Bill's collection went beyond anything Dingo had ever seen.

The boy made his way back to the house, where Mary was already waiting with a jug of home-made lemonade.

"I thought you'd like a drink. Staying out in the sun for too long is no good, especially not when you're still supposed to be resting. I shouldn't have told you to go with him." The woman apologized, without departing from her smile. She poured a glass for Dingo, and gestured for him to take a seat at the living room's table. She sat next to the boy, and helped herself a glass.

"I know I already said it, but you can stay here for as much time as you wish. I understand that you want to keep going, but you should at least wait until your burns have healed up. Bill can drive you to the nearest bus or train station, and we'll get you a ticket for the destination of your choice."

Dingo slowly sipped down his drink while he listened, his headache quickly soothed by the lemonade's freshness.

"I … I'll be all right. I don't really have a set goal in mind, and I prefer walking, anyways. I know it's a lot slower, but that way, I can fully control where I'm going." The boy replied, with a nod when Mary pointed at the jug. The woman filled up Dingo's glass again, while he kept talking.

"I don't want to stay here for too long. I need to keep going. No matter where my path leads me … I have to reach the right place."

Something in the woman's gaze had changed. There was a glint of sadness in her eyes, that quickly disappeared when Dingo looked up at her.

"Of course. We won't hold you back, then. Just let us know when you think it's time for you to go."

Dingo could only nod in reply, as he reached out for his glass. A part of him wished that he could stay here forever, but this wasn't what he had left his village for. He had chosen to become fully independant. Relying on the elderly couple for a few days was already too much.

Dingo spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV with Mary. The woman was happy to have someone she could comment her favorite show to, and Dingo turned out to be a good listener, much to his own surprise. Mary insisted that the boy ate a good snack made of buttered bread and chocolate, before Dingo returned to working outside.

He helped Bill water the numerous rows of vegetables, and the flowers that were lined along the two parallel fences. Dingo was then allowed another break, which he spent resting in the hammock, bathing in the evening sun's comforting light. He even managed to fall asleep, and when Mary came to wake him up, the sun had almost reached the skyline already.

The woman had prepared a delicious pie for dinner, filled with various vegetables from the garden, and some of the leftover chicken from lunch. Dingo devoured the three slices he was given, and was full of praise for Mary's cooking, which earned him many more smiles from the old woman.

The evening was still long, but Dingo chose to bid the couple goodnight right after dinner. He accepted a cup of tea, over which he discussed small things with the woman for a moment, but his eyelids started to close by themselves everytime Mary started one of her monologues. The boy was shooed to bed, and barely found the strength to brush his teeth. He changed into the pyjamas he had packed, but not used once since his departure, without noticing that he had put the shirt inside out. He was already asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

     When Dingo woke up, he could tell that he had slept way more than usual. For a second, he didn't recognize his surroundings, and was struck with the same panic as the previous morning. It took the boy a moment to remember the events of the previous day, and to convince himself that they weren't a dream.

He gave his body some time to boot up, and sat up with much more ease than the previous morning. He felt well rested, a trustworthy sign that he couldn't have hallucinated all the good meals and intense care.

Dingo took the time to properly dress up, then opened the curtains of his room's only window. He could see the neighbors' house, similar to the elderly couple's, and the desert in the background, a reminder of the hell he had escaped thanks to Mary and Bill.

Dingo went to the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face, before he walked back to the living room. He didn't find anyone here, until he heard the noise of dishes being piled up in the kitchen.

Mary had seemingly been cooking all morning - Dingo noticed a clock on the wall opposite to the kitchen's door, and noted that it was past ten in the morning. He'd had over twelve hours of sleep …

"Good morning, Dingo ! Did you sleep well ? What do you want to eat for breakfast ? Or maybe drink ? There's milk and apple juice in the fridge, but I can also make you some tea."

"Good morning. I slept well, thank you. And apple juice will be fine." Dingo was surprised to hear himself answer all the questions at once. He was starting to get used to Mary's motherly behavior.

"Apple juice it is ! And I'll make you some toast. Please have a seat." She gestured at the small kitchen table.

Dingo didn't dare dispute her command, and watched the woman prepare his breakfast. The sight threw him many years back, when he was too young to make his own meals. His mother often left early to prepare work at school, so his father was in charge of breakfast most of the time. In fact, he was the one who cooked the most often. It was one of the man's passions, and his skill had always been a source of inspiration for his son. Dingo hoped to find work in a restaurant, so he could earn some money to keep travelling.

The boy's thoughts were chased away when Mary dropped a plate of buttered toast in front of him, along with a glass of clear apple juice.

"Here you are ! And if you want more, please don't hesitate to tell me." She offered, and returned to her kitchen work. Dingo couldn't tell what she was making, but it apparently involved many different vegetables.

Dingo devoured his breakfast with renewed appetite. Seeing that it was already late, he decided not to ask for seconds, even if his stomach was pleading for more. Instead, the boy cleaned his dishes, then went to apply more lotion on his sunburns. The tip of his nose was still peeling badly, but it had to mean that the old, burnt skin was being replaced with a brand new layer.

The morning went by quickly. Bill had went out for another errand, so Dingo decided to inspect the garden on his own. He didn't dare touch anything, only admiring the old man's skillful work from up close. He explored the wooden cabin again, and ended his stroll in the hammock. The couple's grandkids apparently loved it, and Dingo could understand why. It was the perfect spot to take a nap.

Lunch came in the shape of barbecued meat - prepared by Bill after he'd returned from his errand - and stuffed tomatoes and zucchini of rather impressive sizes. Dingo was able to chat naturally with the couple, though mostly with Mary, as if he'd known them for years. He was allowed more ice cream for dessert, and insisted to help Bill with the garden again.

The man had went to buy an automatic watering system, and even with Dingo's help, it took them the entire afternoon to properly install it. The rest of the day was spent with a large snack, and many board games - an entire wardrobe was filled with those in the living room, courtesy of the grandchildren.

A little before the sun started to set, Mary was mortified to realize that she hadn't prepared anything for dinner. She abandoned the game in a hurry, tearing a laugh from both her husband and Dingo. The two kept playing cards in relative silence, that they both appreciated. They didn't need a flurry of affectionate words to express their mutual respect.

Despite her hurry, Mary managed to come up with an excellent dinner - a home made soup with cream, and for dessert, various fruits from the garden.

The trio resumed their board games for the rest of the evening, the general mood light and heartwarming, so much that Dingo found himself wondering if he hadn't been their grandson all along. He went to sleep with a broad smile again, starting to think that, after all, it might be alright for him to stay here forever.

     The stench of smoke assaulted Dingo's nostrils. He was standing in the corridor, dressed in his overlarge sweater, and holding a sleeve over his mouth. The fire had already invaded the living room ahead, leaving him paralyzed. Move. Move !!! He mentally yelled at his legs, to no avail. His limbs wouldn't budge.

The fire was creeping closer, and soon, the last door would be out of reach. Dingo remembered that the elderly couple's bedroom was located there. He couldn't fail to save them. Not when he owed them his life.

Right when Dingo finally overrode his crippling terror, a loud creaking noise filled the corridor, forcing him to clasp his hands over his ears. The roof was crumbling.

In a last outburst, Dingo threw himself forward. He stumbled towards the right door, and forced it open with all his might.

He was too late. The flames had already filled the entire space, and roared louder when Dingo allowed more air to enter the burning room. When he turned around, the blaze had surrounded him again. There was another worrying creak, followed by a much louder crashing noise. Everything went black.

Dingo opened his eyes again with a sharp intake of breath. He only heard the end of his own scream, and slowly realized that it had all been a nightmare. His shirt was drenched in sweat, and tears flooded his cheeks, but there wasn't any fire. Only moonlight filtrated through his window ; he had forgotten to close the curtains before going to sleep.

The sound of steps had Dingo perk up, and cover his eyes with a hand when a flashlight illuminated his face.

"Dingo, are you alright ? I thought I heard someone scream …" Mary's voice brought instant relief to the boy, who slowly dragged himself in a sitting position, with his legs dangling from the side of the bed. He reached up to wipe his tears, hoping to conceal them from Mary's view. His efforts were in vain.

"I'm fine … Just a bad dream." Dingo muttered. He wanted to tell the woman everything, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

Mary lowered her lamp, and came to sit by the boy's side. She silently slid an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug.

"It's over now. No matter what you saw, it wasn't real. I'm here for you." She murmured, while Dingo let himself cry some more. She held him closer, and stroked his hair gently, bringing all the comfort she possibly could.

Dingo couldn't tell how much time passed before his tears finally dried up. He barely registered Mary helping him lie down again, and tugging the covers to his chin. She gave his forehead a light kiss, then exited the room again. Dingo was already asleep before she closed the door behind her.

The following morning, nothing had changed. Mary welcomed Dingo with the same broad smile, and Bill remained rather distant, though the boy caught the old man staring in his direction a little more often than before.

Dingo spent two more days at the elderly couple's house. A routine was already starting to settle ; Dingo spent most of the time helping Bill in the garden, while Mary surprised him with a new delicious dish at each meal. The evenings were dedicated to board games, and Mary's stories about her grandchildren.

She explained that their two children each had three kids of their own, who came to visit during most holidays, sometimes alone, or in groups of two or three siblings and cousins. Traditional family meetings took place at the grandparents' home at each important holiday, and were the source of much happiness for everyone. Mary went all out with her cooking, and added new pictures to the collection in the corridor after each meeting.

Hearing the old woman speak so fondly of her family brought more happiness than melancholy to Dingo, although it reminded him of how his and Shanka's families used to meet often. They would share meals and laughs, just like the old couple and their descendants.

On the morning of his sixth day, Dingo woke up with a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. It was telling him that no matter how happy he was at the couple's place, it was time for him to leave again.

He couldn't allow himself to grow complacent. The road ahead was still long.

When Dingo wanted to bring up the topic of his departure, as he sipped down his glass of apple juice, Mary raised a hand to interrupt him.

"You're going to leave, right ? I saw it in your eyes when you walked in. You looked … Different." She kept her explanation vague, but the point had been made.

"… Yeah. I think it's time." Dingo admitted. He wondered what Mary had read in his gaze : guilt, sadness perhaps ? Or on the contrary, excitement ?

"Will you at least stay for lunch ? And I'll need to pack some snacks for you. And give you a map of the area."

"I'll take lunch and the snacks, but the map won't be necessary. My instincts will guide me." Dingo gave the woman a confident smile. He hadn't realised that Bill was standing in the kitchen's doorway, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"As you wish, sweetie. But promise me you'll take all food I'll pack for you. Will you at least let Bill drive you to the nearest city ?"

Dingo hesitated for a second, but eventually nodded. He finished his breakfast, and went to take a refreshing shower, before he packed his belongings.

The last meal Dingo shared with the elderly couple was more silent than the previous ones. Mary made a few attempts at starting a cheerful conversation, but it always died out after a few exchanges. Dingo mentally scolded himself for letting this uncomfortable mood settle, but he couldn't force himself to joke around again.

Parting from the couple would be hard, but Dingo was confident that they would meet again. He didn't plan to be gone from the area forever. One day or another, his path would take him back to his first home, and he would certainly be able to make a detour by the couple's house.

Dingo brought his large backpack over to the kitchen, where Mary was waiting for him with what looked like a month's worth of food.

"I've packed some smoked meats, many fruits, and even some vegetables - you'll have to eat them first, before they go bad. I also gave you tea time snacks, filled your bottles of water, and added a few other things …"

Her voice trailed off, and she reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Ah, sorry … I can't help being a little emotional. This almost feels like when my children left home to live by themselves …" She confessed, and quickly forced a smile back on her lips.

Dingo was nearly done stuffing all the boxes and packages in his backpack, when he heard the woman's voice break. He hesitated for a second, before he walked around the small kitchen, and gave Mary a tight hug.

"I'm … I'm sorry I have to leave. You've done so much for me, and I … I'll never forget it. I promise."

The woman reached up to ruffle Dingo's hair, making him realize that once more, he hadn't put his hood on. He gave a glance over the woman's shoulder, and noticed that her husband was standing in front of the door again.

"I'll get the car ready." The man muttered, and disappeared from view.

Dingo let the embrace last for a few more seconds, before he slowly pulled away. He finished to pack his food, and shouldered the heavy backpack, turning around to face Mary.

"Thank you, Mary. I owe you so much … And I promise I'll try to return the favor, one day."

"You really don't have to, sweetie. It was my … our pleasure. Have a safe trip, and … come back to see us one day."

"I will." Dingo promised. He offered the woman a broad smile, despite the tears that stung at his eyes. He exited the kitchen before the dam could break, and noticed that the door on his right was open.

As he'd guessed, it led to the street. Bill's car was actually an impressive ATV, with three seats in the front, and a large dumper behind the cabin. The vehicle looked designed for the bumpy roads of the desert.

Dingo took the passenger seat near the window, and let his backpack rest between him and Bill. The man started up the engine, and Dingo had time to notice that Mary was waiting on the threshold, waving them goodbye with a tissue in her hand.

The boy felt his tears return, but he held them back again, so he could return the woman's wave. He didn't stop smiling until the car pulled into the lane, and Mary disappeared from view. Only then did Dingo let the tears stream freely down his cheeks.

     Dingo let the first part of the trip happen in silence, once he had managed to stop crying. Bill drove rather harshly on the crack-riddled road, but Dingo's mind was too busy to let him feel sick. This was his last chance to understand why he felt like the old man was so familiar.

"Say, Bill … Maybe you'll think I'm crazy, but I feel like we've met before. I mean, before you found me in the desert."

A moment of silence passed, making Dingo think that he'd upset Bill in some way, or that Bill thought he was crazy. When the man spoke up again, his voice was as low and gruff as usual, but it carried more emotion than Dingo remembered ever hearing in the man's tone.

"Listen, kid … When I was a bit older than you, I ran away from home too. I didn't get along with my parents. I had an older brother, the annoyingly popular kind, so much that I always got ignored. He was going to become my village's leader, but I didn't feel like I had a place there anymore. So I packed my stuff and left."

"Just like you, I wandered around for a while. I 'followed my instincts', and they led me to this small town. There, I met Mary. She worked at the business her father had - a garage. I showed up at her door one day, when she was luckily alone, begging for water, and she secretly took me in. She found me a shelter in an abandoned cabin nearby, and came everyday to give me water and food."

"Of course, her father discovered us one day. It made a big fuss, because the village was so small. She was kicked out, and it was my turn to take care of her."

"That's probably why she chose to keep you home, instead of taking you to a hospital. You reminded her of me … Of us."

The man paused for a few seconds, before he added : "That's not the only thing I wanted to say … But maybe you've figured that out already."

Dingo's jaw had dropped open at the man's story. He leaned forward to stare at the man, while the pieces of the puzzle came together in his mind. He remembered a story about a shameful young man who'd fled from his village, because he was jealous of his successful older brother. That boy had been cursed to never set a foot in the village again, much to the dismay of his brother, who had found himself helpless against the pressure of the entire village, starting with his parents. And Dingo now recalled another detail about the story.

"You're my grandfather's brother." He realized. "You're my … great-uncle."

The man gave Dingo a rare smile. "So you figured it out. You're more like my brother than it first seems … He was the clever one."

Dingo remained baffled for a long time, his shocked expression slowly turning to a broad smile. This was the first time he met one of his blood relatives since his parents' funeral.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence again, but it wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest. Dingo watched the city get closer in front of them, and couldn't help but gasp again. It wasn't a very large city, by the country's standards, but it was still the largest town the boy had ever visited on his own.

Bill parked his vehicle in front of the bus station. "Mary slipped money in your bag while you were still sleeping. Figured you'd never take it, if she handed it to you."

"Yeah, I probably wouldn't have taken it." Dingo chuckled, still amazed at how well the woman understood him. He now knew the reason why …

"So, Bill … Uncle. Can I call you uncle ?" Dingo asked, and got a nod in reply from the old man. "Thanks for everything, uncle. If you hadn't found me in that desert, I would've-"

"I already told you, kid. Don't bother with the speeches. I know exactly how you feel, and I know you'll come back, one day. If there's one thing you can do to thank us, it's to have a safe trip to wherever your instincts take you."

Dingo offered the man a broad smile, and shouldered his backpack again. He jumped down the driver's cabin, before he finally bid the man farewell.

"Thanks a lot again, uncle. And give aunt Mary a hug from me, alright ?"

"Will do. Have a save trip, Dingo."

It was the first time the old man addressed Dingo by his name. The boy gave Bill a last smile, before slammed the vehicle's door shut. He stepped back a little, and didn't move from his spot until the black ATV disappeared from view.

"We'll meet again." Dingo muttered to himself. He turned to the bus station, and hesitated for a moment, before he looked in the other direction. The parking lot was relatively empty, so the boy reached for his tomahawk, and cast it high in the air.

The blade crashed down with a loud clang, and Dingo waited until it had stopped spinning to read the direction it indicated.

His instincts were telling him to stray away from the bus station.

"On foot it is, then." Dingo concluded, as he picked up his blade, and walked towards the exit of the parking lot.

His journey was finally taking a new start.