that weary, old, guard stands in the dessert; face shadowed by a long, brown ash cloak that wraps figure. there’s nothing here in the dessert, yet they keeps their stand, protecting, waiting—for what, they don’t know—just the voice in their head, quiet, soft, saying something they can’t understand, but know it’s important—a hand curled around a spear that firm in the sand.
it’s long, long, years. the sun is merciless and beating down. no one ever comes here. there’s no reason to.
there’s nothing here.
but then—one day, one morning—there’s a blob of dark in the distance, clear, in this land of nothingness. and they stop. even though they weren’t, weren’t doing anything.
the blog gets closer and as it does, the thing becomes clear. humans. people.
they tighten their hand on their spear. they watch, sharp eyes, under the hood, stomach tightening.
(it’s been so long.)
a bearded man with soft brown eyes, laughter lines on his face in arms with another man, blue eyed, smiling too, pushing and shoving. others. less expressive, strolling behind, a young girl and a man. content faces, taking, whispering to each other.
their heart aches for some reason they can’t name. (there’s something missing here, something important.)
(they know them)
the voice gets louder in their head.
but they can’t—don’t—
one of the—people—turns to them and their eyes catch, his going wide, brighter. but they don’t understand, why, why now—
he laughs, bright, sudden, they’re—all four of them—are laughing now, running, towards them, and there’s a tightness in their throat, a feeling crawling, up, up and before they know, the spear is thrown behind them and they are running too. Fast, faster.
Andy, Andy she thinks, that’s her name as she sheds the cloak, runs to them, laughing, for what feels like an eternity.
She’s home. Andy’s finally home.