feel the water round me / mutts v LN@WB

She didn’t sleep.

On the summit of a gentle dune, backpack beneath her head, Tsara stared up at the sky. She willed the clouds to part, to give her a glimpse of stars. To give her direction. But the clouds blew on, dark and heavy as the night itself.

Near dawn, she gathered her yellow raincoat close. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable. Actually, the ash and grit made a rather fine bed. And it wasn’t even that she was too scared or anxious or in too much pain. She just didn’t like to sleep in the dark any more. She was awake and eager to see the sunrise.

The dune shifted, growled, as the blood red sun rose.

Tsara sighed. She gave the little black box a weak shake, heard nothing new, and stuff it away with the rest of her hoard. Slipping on the backpack, she stumbled down one hill, almost tripped over Whiskey. She hurried on, cresting another dune. “Think the arena is telling us to move on,” she said, stomping one foot for emphasis.

She thought she heard something roar, distantly. Eyes wide, she looked right at Sinead. “Like, right now.”

As they walked away from the Cornucopia, Tsara chewed on the inside of her lip. She’d thought all night about Arthur’s words over the radio. Breaker, breaker. She’d been so overwhelmed with longing when she’d heard his voice that she hadn’t really processed what he’d said. What did that mean? Was it a warning?

Was something about to break?

Tsar.

She smiled a secret sort of smile.

And then nearly fell face first into a ditch.

It was only the mossy vines at the basin’s edge that caught her booted feet and kept her from falling. She gasped, windmilling her arms, fingertips brushing Nixie. She wanted to grab onto her, to latch onto the safety and protection Nixie exuded. But she felt a bit like an idiot. So when she found her balance, Tsara hunched her shoulders and muttered, “I’m tired of walking. Do we have to go around?” Whining pitched her voice higher in a way she found particularly lovely.

She rubbed both fists into her swollen, sore eye sockets, trying to dispel some of the grit and opened her eyes to a dream.

There, across the way -- somehow always across the damned desert -- was Arthur Rollei.

Your people treating you ok?

“YES!” Tsara shouted, as though he had just asked her.

And then realized she wasn’t in a dream.

She was in a nightmare.

For a second, a split second, Tsara thought the lizard might unhinge its jaw, open wide, and swallow her whole.

She thought maybe that would be less painful than her broken nose and festering wounds.

But it only loosened some of her stitches. "Careful there Fer, can't have you taking too many more hits."

"You want them instead?" Tsara offered snottily. But she couldn't hold it, couldn't keep the affected contempt in her voice. The moment the question left her lips, the snarl eased into a smile. The Finch boy probably would not take the hits directed at the Fer girl, but he was watching out for her. That was something.

Most of Wiz and Nixie's bickering went over her head, but she heard 'deal' and felt something ease in her spine. She gripped the handle of her weapon. "Nixie, let me have a tur-"

The Man trap snapped, seizing onto Nixie's leg.

Tsara lunged but in her haste, dragged her machete. It sliced across the lizard's leg, slowing her down even further.