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ajremixTitle: Walk to No One Knows
Fandom: Skip Tracers
Rating: G
Word Count: 437
Characters: Duragon
In Response to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
oc_speedfic’s daybreak challenge
Summary: Past fic. Duragon is sent on his way.
He walks because he has to. Because if he doesn’t he’ll die and somehow, despite all that’s happened, he doesn’t want to die. Not yet. Sand shifts beneath his feet and he almost falls if it weren’t for the walking stick he sinks deep into the dune. He pants and struggles, pulling his feet free of the grains, sweat cold and plastering his clothes to his skin.
He has nothing on him but his clothes and what little food and water he was given. The rest of the tribe had wanted to send him out with no provisions but the elder had refused to send the boy out without any means to survive.
“He must be given three days worth of food and water.” He had said. “Tradition dictates.”
There is no Kuru that would ever deny what tradition dictates though he wasn’t given three days but rather one and a half. Because even the elder couldn’t deny that giving the exiled such a chance to survive when others in the tribe may not even last the week wasn’t possible.
“If you stretch it out,” he told the boy, the only one that still spoke to him as a child, looked at him and not through him, “it will last you three days. Be careful on your journey.”
Day breaks over the vast desert and he can still make another mile before the sun will start to blister his skin and kill him one slow second at a time. There’s no real way for him to survive out here, some tricks he remembers his father teaching him before the dragon made him vanish in the gold sea.
He walks because there is no other choice, either he walks and walks and find some way to live, or he walks and walks and he dies, shredded by daggers of sand and drowned in sun and heat. Either he walks or he stays and dies. Dies by the swirling world around him or killed when those of his former tribe comes across him once more.
He walks because he has nothing else but his clothes and his protective mask and the dragon curled maliciously around his arm. He has no past, no future, not even his father’s guns, the ones that didn’t disappear with the man. He walks because it’s just barely daybreak and he can walk just a little bit further.
He walks because he may live or he may die and just like the hissing god branded on his wrist since birth he won’t know what his fate has in store for him until he reaches it.
Fandom: Skip Tracers
Rating: G
Word Count: 437
Characters: Duragon
In Response to:
oc_speedfic’s daybreak challengeSummary: Past fic. Duragon is sent on his way.
He walks because he has to. Because if he doesn’t he’ll die and somehow, despite all that’s happened, he doesn’t want to die. Not yet. Sand shifts beneath his feet and he almost falls if it weren’t for the walking stick he sinks deep into the dune. He pants and struggles, pulling his feet free of the grains, sweat cold and plastering his clothes to his skin.
He has nothing on him but his clothes and what little food and water he was given. The rest of the tribe had wanted to send him out with no provisions but the elder had refused to send the boy out without any means to survive.
“He must be given three days worth of food and water.” He had said. “Tradition dictates.”
There is no Kuru that would ever deny what tradition dictates though he wasn’t given three days but rather one and a half. Because even the elder couldn’t deny that giving the exiled such a chance to survive when others in the tribe may not even last the week wasn’t possible.
“If you stretch it out,” he told the boy, the only one that still spoke to him as a child, looked at him and not through him, “it will last you three days. Be careful on your journey.”
Day breaks over the vast desert and he can still make another mile before the sun will start to blister his skin and kill him one slow second at a time. There’s no real way for him to survive out here, some tricks he remembers his father teaching him before the dragon made him vanish in the gold sea.
He walks because there is no other choice, either he walks and walks and find some way to live, or he walks and walks and he dies, shredded by daggers of sand and drowned in sun and heat. Either he walks or he stays and dies. Dies by the swirling world around him or killed when those of his former tribe comes across him once more.
He walks because he has nothing else but his clothes and his protective mask and the dragon curled maliciously around his arm. He has no past, no future, not even his father’s guns, the ones that didn’t disappear with the man. He walks because it’s just barely daybreak and he can walk just a little bit further.
He walks because he may live or he may die and just like the hissing god branded on his wrist since birth he won’t know what his fate has in store for him until he reaches it.
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 07:42 am (UTC)