The Lost Elf

     The Elf trudged through the hot sand, stumbling every so often but this just made the Elf more determined to cross the endless sea of sand. He glanced desperately at the sky in hope of seeing huge black clouds dashing to bloke the sun’s burning light. The back of his neck and bear arms had been burnt badly under the unforgiving glare of the scorching sun and his lips were cracked and dry as he had no water available to drink. He quickly scrambled over a steep sandy slope and as he tried to stand up, the sand caved in on itself and the Elf lost his footing and rolled down the other side of the mound. The Elf spat sand from his mouth after he tumbled to a halt. He quickly assured that both of the swords were still secure as he stood up, slightly dazed from his fall, corrected his direction and trudged steadily onwards.

         The Elf dully noticed that he was stumbling up another mound of sand that was slightly steeper than the ones he’d come across before. As he crawled to the top and slowly stood up, his eyes shot open in surprise. He was standing on the edge of an encampment, ten leagues wide and it was full of cream shaded tents of different sizes and he could see people walking around, chatting to each other. A cry of alarm rang through the air and he noticed a few men raise bows in his direction. He quickly raised his hands in submission as a dozen arrows flew towards him. He deflected most of them using magic but he was mentally and physically exhausted and he missed one of the arrows which found its target.

         Pain shot through his body as if boiling oil had been poured over him and he fell to his knees. He clutched at the arrow resting deep in his left shoulder and pulled at it, a white light burst through his mind as he yanked at the arrow but the pain was too much. His vision blurred along with his hearing. Dull thuds pounded the sand and he lurched sideways, the spray of sand seemed to echo in his mind as he landed against the hot gritty sand with a light thud that sent sand flying upwards in a sandy spray.

       He cast he senses out around him to discover that he was in a tent, his wound had been bandaged and was nearly healed. There was a young woman sitting beside him. He couldn't focus long enough on her mind to see if he was in any danger before his mental prode was snuffed out like a candle flame.



The End

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