Rosewater Oasis oh, i get it. you're not allowed to talk.

his mouth is dry like the desert sand he wades thru, wondering if the shifting of sands is endless, if he had perished and his ghost was simply too stubborn to realize it. he aches for thirst; desperation spurring him ever onward.

the soft sand underfoot is pliable to his footsteps, erasing his paw prints where he steps as it drifts on the warm, arid breeze.

he follows mother nature's path of desert roses, falling beneath the shade of a swaying palm at the rough rock edge of the small pond. where distrust would cause him to hesitate under normal circumstances he has been offered the very thing that has been haunting him and he laps at the warm oasis water greedily until he retches it back onto his paws.

a raw gasp follows. a cough.

and stark tries again, drinking slower this time.