#imma be real i was glancing at the little word counter CONSTANTLY while working on this

[tormentum-ab-intra]

augusnippets day 3

Prompt: Heat wave Word count: 487 Content warnings: none really! Unless you count the beginning stages of heat stroke :)

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The worst of it isn’t the heat. It isn’t the burns on his soles from walking barefoot on the packed and blistering dirt. It isn’t the stinging in his eyes as sweat trickles down his forehead. It isn’t even the fact that his waterskin’s nearly empty. No, the worst of it is that he wouldn’t even be in this spot if not for Dochibo.

She’s lucky his people and hers share ancestors. She’s lucky his people and hers are friends, and that he honors those ties. He’d let her find her own way back, if not for that.

Scanning his surroundings with baleful eyes, Na Deng wets cracking lips with his tongue and raises his hand, whistling sharply between his fingers. The sound worsens the throbbing of his head, echoing off the sides of the gorge. Na Deng pauses, listens, whistles again, listens again.

Silence.

How Dochibo even managed to get this far in such a short amount of time is beyond him. Maybe she’s just hiding. Maybe he passed her an hour ago. The idea of her wedged beneath a rock somewhere like a lizard hiding from wild dogs would be funny, if he were picturing it from the cold and comfort of the underground inn.

As it is, he’s out here slow-roasting like a rack of lamb, and he fails to see the humor in it.

Thinking, not watching where he’s stepping, Na Deng doesn’t see the sharp stone embedded in the dirt until it’s slicing into his foot. With a hiss, he trips to a stop. Momentum carries him forward another few hopping steps, working with rising nausea to send him off-balance. He rights himself, sort of, and stumbles over to the side of the gorge. The rough stone burns when he leans his hand against it for balance.

A brief inspection of his raised foot shows blood enough for leaving footprints and a cut that will need stitching later. Angrily, Na Deng whips off the strip of cloth holding his hair out of his eyes and sits to tie it around his foot instead.

Now that he isn’t moving, it occurs to him that his leg is cramping. Funny how that sort of thing slips the mind when it’s focused on other things. That, or he’s just too sun-addled to pay attention.

It takes a moment before Na Deng can convince himself to stand back up, but he reasons to himself that the sooner he finds Dochibo, the sooner he can head back and cool off.

Could go back without her, part of him thinks, as he pushes to his feet and tests his weight on his injured foot. Could skip the inn and go home. Say the ghouls got her.

Nonetheless, he limps forward, not back.

Raising clammy fingers to parched lips, Na Deng whistles shrilly, and listens for an answer.

He wishes he’d brought his spear along for a walking stick.