He had been walking for ages wondering why the blistering heat and grating sand hadn't worn down his body. Despite the many steps causing his feet to ache, he didn't feel the twinge of hunger or parched from a lack of water.
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The sands would swirl up in great intricate patterns shrouding his path. It was like the desert is alive. Every time he picked a direction, the sand would rise up to blocking him and create massive sand dunes. The sands shifted underfoot forcing him on a certain path.
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Another mirage spun around him when he attempted to fight the desert. He continuously struggles to keep the visions from consuming him. But at last, it was of no use. He is drawn into a twisting nether of visions. The twisting sand fades away to something familiar.
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Father is beating on a anvil. Behind him is the family smithery; a great timber structure made from massive wooden logs. Out front is a extensive forge. Surrounding the structure is great stone and thatch city. "Your heart has to be like the fire. As the forge creates strong arms and armor, your heart has to create a strong character." He pounds a metal piece on the anvil. "Forge it nice and strong but flexible so it doesn't snap. It's difficult because if you make it to rigid, it will snap; but too soft and it will break when force is applied."
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A little boy looks up eagerly, "How do you know when it's just right?"
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"You will know, never be to hard on yourself or others. We all walk a long lonely road with are own destination. No one can take it or change it. Those who try to change it become lost."
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"Like in the desert," the kid says with a spark of intelligence in his eyes.
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"Yes but more metaphorical," the man says bringing down the hammer. "Now. You try."
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The world shimmers and he can barely make out the real world. Then world fades to a backdrop as another mirage envelops him. It's the same location, though the smithery is now older and run down. The forge had died. The father is much older, his long dark hair has become silver and he has stopped bothering to cut it. His face like wise has been forgotten. A sliver beard dangles from his chin. The boy was a man now, tall and broad shouldered. A squared angular jaw with a scar running down the right side and a pronounced chin. He says, "Father my life isn't in steel and the forge. It's out there, the man behind the weapons. Making changes to the world, shaping and forging it."
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"I had hoped you would follow your father's footsteps. But truly believing it would make me a hypocrite. We all have our own path to follow," his father says.684Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmQV9yGi3Fv
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The vision of the father and son had vanished leaving him alone with the setting sun. The sky turning bright orange with streaks of gold. Darkness consumed him. Howls of enormous lizards filled his ears. The ground shook underneath him. He took his makeshift travel bag off of his back and sat it down. He could only stare into the desert wondering why his father had sent him to find his brother's grave. There is a violent shudder as the temperature plummets. He breaks out his wool garments and thick blankets. The cold was leaking in like liquid and numbs him to the bone. How much more could he take. Darkness over took him.
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