Spoiler: Habel's Freedom, 647 words
Habel held his camel's hump in both hands as it trekked across the desert, mile after mile. Where were he and this camel heading next?
Amidst the vast expanse of sand, Habel sighted a group of figures. Two men on camels, and two men on foot. He skewed his path to meet them, and they stayed on their path.
The tallest man, atop a camel, leads it over to greet Habel. "I am Tashir. What brings you into the desert? With no caravan, no less." Tashir's skin is a different shade from Habel's, and so is that of the rest of the group. Not one that should bear him any ill will, though.
"I have escaped as a slave. I must get to a town where my ownership is unknown."
"Ah." Tashir responds. Seeing how Habel is clothed, it isn't a hard sell.
"You should join our caravan. You will become lost, otherwise. And there is always the risk of meeting a band it in the desert. We can help eachother."
Habel's heart is warmed. He'd never known this sort of mutualism in slavery.
"Of course."
They journey on the caravan's path, those on camels in the front, the two without in the back. It feels too hot for many words. Habel learns the group is a clan that always travels together. They have currency they'd like to spend in the town they are headed to. Habel occasionally sips water from his canteen, clutching the camel tighter with his knees to balance when he uses his hand this way.
Tashir speaks, not stopping his camel to do so. "Matur has run out of water. Would you give him a turn with your canteen, Habel? Caravans always share, together. We're stopping by an oasis soon, and we all shall refill."
The sweaty Habel clutches the canteen briefly. He'd been rationing the water himself.
But this is how free people associate. A new thing to learn.
"Here."
Matur, one of the ones on foot, sips the canteen judiciously as they continue, by no means disrespecting Habel's generosity. Habel continues to ride, the heat all the more taxing without his water. But he only needed to hold on, and let the camel do the walking. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to steal it.
After two more hours, there was still no sign of the oasis.
"Are we close?" Habel asked.
"Very close."
Tashir circled his camel in front of Habel, stopping for a moment to speak. "Agupt is getting very weary traveling on foot. I think you should give him a turn on your camel. When we reach the oasis, we can cycle again."
Habel looks down at Agupt, who does look very weary, and had been a few paces behind Matur for the past mile.
"Of course." Habel complies, awkwardly dismounting the camel, a first in his life. He helps Agupt get on, and whispers to the camel that the new rider will not be harsh.
They continue onwards. Habel walks alongside Matur, behind the other three.
"May I have the canteen back?"
"At the oasis."
Habel feels parched, and weak. For a mile, he keeps up with Matur. For the next mile, he can't do any better than seven paces behind.
And then, he realizes they are all slipping out of reach altogether. Habel lacks the strength to keep up.
"Wait!" He has enough strength to yell, where they can all surely hear him.
But not a single head turns.
"Come back!" Even louder, for the greater distance.
Tashir pulls several canteens out of the bags saddled on his camel and distribute them among the group. But he does not look back.
"No" Habel mutters.
He plods forward, slowly for about an hour more, in empty hopes they change their mind. But what changes is Habel's consciousness, as dehydration blacks him out. And he never wakes up.
Amidst the vast expanse of sand, Habel sighted a group of figures. Two men on camels, and two men on foot. He skewed his path to meet them, and they stayed on their path.
The tallest man, atop a camel, leads it over to greet Habel. "I am Tashir. What brings you into the desert? With no caravan, no less." Tashir's skin is a different shade from Habel's, and so is that of the rest of the group. Not one that should bear him any ill will, though.
"I have escaped as a slave. I must get to a town where my ownership is unknown."
"Ah." Tashir responds. Seeing how Habel is clothed, it isn't a hard sell.
"You should join our caravan. You will become lost, otherwise. And there is always the risk of meeting a band it in the desert. We can help eachother."
Habel's heart is warmed. He'd never known this sort of mutualism in slavery.
"Of course."
They journey on the caravan's path, those on camels in the front, the two without in the back. It feels too hot for many words. Habel learns the group is a clan that always travels together. They have currency they'd like to spend in the town they are headed to. Habel occasionally sips water from his canteen, clutching the camel tighter with his knees to balance when he uses his hand this way.
Tashir speaks, not stopping his camel to do so. "Matur has run out of water. Would you give him a turn with your canteen, Habel? Caravans always share, together. We're stopping by an oasis soon, and we all shall refill."
The sweaty Habel clutches the canteen briefly. He'd been rationing the water himself.
But this is how free people associate. A new thing to learn.
"Here."
Matur, one of the ones on foot, sips the canteen judiciously as they continue, by no means disrespecting Habel's generosity. Habel continues to ride, the heat all the more taxing without his water. But he only needed to hold on, and let the camel do the walking. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to steal it.
After two more hours, there was still no sign of the oasis.
"Are we close?" Habel asked.
"Very close."
Tashir circled his camel in front of Habel, stopping for a moment to speak. "Agupt is getting very weary traveling on foot. I think you should give him a turn on your camel. When we reach the oasis, we can cycle again."
Habel looks down at Agupt, who does look very weary, and had been a few paces behind Matur for the past mile.
"Of course." Habel complies, awkwardly dismounting the camel, a first in his life. He helps Agupt get on, and whispers to the camel that the new rider will not be harsh.
They continue onwards. Habel walks alongside Matur, behind the other three.
"May I have the canteen back?"
"At the oasis."
Habel feels parched, and weak. For a mile, he keeps up with Matur. For the next mile, he can't do any better than seven paces behind.
And then, he realizes they are all slipping out of reach altogether. Habel lacks the strength to keep up.
"Wait!" He has enough strength to yell, where they can all surely hear him.
But not a single head turns.
"Come back!" Even louder, for the greater distance.
Tashir pulls several canteens out of the bags saddled on his camel and distribute them among the group. But he does not look back.
"No" Habel mutters.
He plods forward, slowly for about an hour more, in empty hopes they change their mind. But what changes is Habel's consciousness, as dehydration blacks him out. And he never wakes up.