Morningside Cuesta deuteronomy

You could slow your pace a little, boy. They called to the dark-coated warrior up front, dredging their own steps across the cold bog at a leisurely pace. It had begun as a joke, as it entertained them to see Glaukos grow flustered and impatient, only now the cold had begun to worry their joints and indeed, slow them. At their flank, the yearling they had picked up along the way — moving spritely.

She said something, to which Djinn turned their entire head in a great arc — Hmm?

Oh, I only—I only was saying, thank you, again. The girl shivered and ducked beside the silver wolf, using them as a bulwark against the wind. A moment later she realized how unkind that was! Someone so old should not be subjected to this awful place; it was wet and cold and—...why could we not go south?

She did not mean to lament this point; but as soon as Mercedes spoke the question, she saw the elder's ears slant back, even while they smiled. The dark shape ahead of them (their guide, begudgingly) did not slow their pace or put forth any effort in to answering the question himself. Mercedes was certain that the man, Glaukos, could not speak in the common tongue. She had yet to hear it.

The girl was fortunate they had encountered her when they had; more so that Djinn could convince the surly guardian to keep her. A smile draws across that gilded face: We could, but that would require fighting that one on direction. They motion to the hulking shape beyond, who turns a tattered ear as if finally cognizant of the conversation's topic; Glaukos' pace increases slightly and he draws further from them both.

Djinn sighs and slows, then stops. It won't be a long rest. They have places to be, and there is hardly any shelter or food in this awful place; just the cold and the damp. The girl seems eager to stick close and Djinn huffs, looking to Mercedes.

He seems to think we'll make it to the mountains sooner rather than later. They look from the girl up to the sky, which is clear, but then distantly on the horizon there is one far-off mountain north of them, and farther still an undulation to the limits of their vision — a chain of mountains too far west.

A week, maybe, until we're at this village he speaks of. I don't think I will make it that far, As grim as this pronouncement sounds, Djinn is equal parts confident and nonchalant about it. There isn't much life left in their old bones and the trio are all aware.

Mercedes smiled, finding humor in the way Djinn spoke of things; she looked to Glaukos a moment too long and then realized that the elder's steps had ceased, so she looked back and saw them sagging down for a rest. Caught between following one or the other, she hastily moved back to Djinn and kept watch. It had become something of a habit now for her to keep an eye on things.

She felt a little resentment towards the guardian who kept on walking as if he moved alone, rather than with company. Her attention was focused upon the steadily moving figure of Glaukos while Djinn commented on their travel, and then she looked to the sky also, humming to herself.

When the elder mentioned not making it her ears twitched and she shot them a frown, finding zero humor there. We will! We'll make it to shelter, somewhere. He can hunt and I'll — I suppose I can also hunt, for plants and things. Whatever might make things easier! I promised. She sounded so serious! As if Mercedes knew anything about the world outside of the desert.

She bit her lower lip, greatly concerned and wishing she wasn't alone in this.

The girl was sweet. A little touched, Djinn thought — eager to please and very clingy for her age — but that served the elder well. How long they traveled alone! And now to have a guardian on one side, and an eager youth on the other. It was heaven.

Alright, alright... Djinn laughed softly beneath their breath as they tried to calm the fire in the girl, but not too much. Then they rose to their feet (with the girl's help) and they got on with it again.

Distantly, the dark shape of their guardian loomed, lurching on.