Work Text:
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A Pointless Tale
byme
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Summary: This short tale involves a desert, a flute and a sandstorm. Is it just a dream? You be the judge.
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The desert was cool and pleasant this time of day. Though it would soon grow colder before heating up and becoming unbearably hot before beginning the cycle all over again. Not that it mattered one way or the other. Really. It didn’t. Not to the tall man, anyway. He kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other and only paying enough attention to his feet that he didn't trip over anything. He swerved around cacti and scrub bushes and rocks, avoided scorpions and snakes with equal indifference, only noticing anything at all because it impeded his progress. Not that he knew or cared where he was going, only that he kept moving forward.
After some long time and after the sun had gone down and the stars winked overhead, he stopped. It was too dark to walk without injury, so he sat next to a large rock, leaned back, pulled a blanket out of his pack and went to sleep. A wavering shadow flickering in front of him woke him the next day. He squinted up at the top of the rock and saw a young man standing there. It was he who made the shadow.
He was an average sort of man, not too old and not too young, not too large and not too small. His long hair fell to his shoulders in curls and waves, floating in the morning breeze. He had a pert nose and full lips and deep blue eyes the color of the deep ocean on a fine, sunny day. Which was very different to the tall man with his broad shoulders, short cropped hair, long, straight nose and eyes the color of a summer sky at noon.
"Hello," the young man said, smiling as he looked down from the top of the rock.
"Who are you?" the tall man asked.
"Me?" He grinned, showing even, white teeth. "I'm nobody. Who are you?"
"I mean what's your name and what are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same of you." He cocked his head consideringly. "Why are you here in the trackless desert so far from your people. This is not a good place to be if you've never been here before. It can be very deadly."
"You're here."
"There is no danger to me."
"So you live here?"
The young man hopped off the rock to land in front of the tall man. "Sometimes." He smiled, promptly sitting cross-legged on the ground and closing his eyes, turning his face to the sun and sighing in contentment. After a moment he pulled a small wooden flute from his pocket, softly blowing a melancholy tune.
The tall man stared down at the young man for several long moments. "Well, I'll be seeing you," he finally said, picking up his pack and starting to walk away.
"That way."
"What?" The tall man turned around.
"You'll want to go that way." He pointed behind himself with the flute.
"What makes that way better than any other?"
The young man opened one eye to stare up at him. "Water," he said, closing the eye and blowing on his flute again.
The tall man shrugged indifferently and continued on the way he had started.
"Hey!" the young man cried, jumping up and tugging firmly on other man's arm. "There's nothing out there but scrub and desert. You don't have the equipment to last very long."
The man looked down at him from his greater height. "Doesn't matter," he said, tugging his arm from the grip holding him back and starting forward again.
"It does." The young man was suddenly in front of him, dancing along backwards when he didn't stop. "Do you want to end yourself?"
The tall man shrugged and kept walking.
"No. No, nonononono." the young man stopped, putting both hands out. The tall man ceased walking and huffed out a short breath, folding his arms with a put upon look on his face.
"My life. My decision." He detoured around the young man and kept going.
"You're a putz."
"What?" The tall man stopped and turned around.
"I said: You -- are -- a -- putz."
He reached out to grab the young man, thinking to shove him against a rock and teach him proper manners, but his fist grasped only air.
"You're still a putz."
He looked up at the young man who now sat astride a nearby boulder, his legs hanging down and swinging back and forth.
"I didn't see you move." he said, eyes narrowing. The young man rolled his eyes.
"A putz and slow. No wonder you want to lose yourself in the trackless desert." He jumped down from the boulder, landing lightly in front of the tall man. "Why?" he demanded, placing his hands on his hips as he looked up into pale blue eyes.
"None of your business." The tall man turned in a different direction and started to walk away.
"You didn't answer my question." Stubbornly, the younger man followed along behind. "I won't leave until you tell me," he insisted.
But the man continued on as if he hadn't heard.
The younger man stopped, a crafty look crossing his face. He nodded to himself and hurried to catch up. "There are many strange and dangerous creatures in the desert," he said as if talking to himself. "Snakes."
A frantic rattling was heard as the tall man passed a clump of sagebrush.
The man jumped aside, drawing and throwing a knife in one easy move, killing the snake instantly. He cut the head off the snake and stuffed the body into his pouch for supper, then cleaned his knife off on his pants and continued on his way.
"There are packs of coyotes," the young man said.
Growling and snarling could be heard from a group of boulders ahead.
The tall man swiftly changed course, climbing on top of the boulders and rolling large rocks onto the creatures, driving them away. He scrambled down from the rocks and continued on his way.
"Sandstorms," the young man intoned ominously, tossing his long, curly hair over his shoulder.
Immediately the wind picked up and started to howl over the desert land.
The tall man took shelter in the lee of several boulders where they formed a sheltering overhang, pulling his blanket out and covering himself with it.
"Why to you persist?" The young man crawled under the blanket and sat close beside the tall man.
The man would not look at him but merely sat very still as if listening as the wind howled and the sand pelted the blanket mightily.
The young man poked him. "I said--" He looked closely at the other man, finally taking note of his stillness and his unfocused gaze. "Damn," he murmured.
He sat for a long time, studying the man and chewing his lip in consternation. Finally he sighed, coming to a decision of sorts. Reaching out a hand, he placed it on the cooling arm of his companion. "Come back, oh Man." he intoned quietly. "Come. Be with me. I am here." He grasped the man's arm firmly. "I will aid you as much as I am able," he whispered, leaning close and breathing moist air in his companion's face. "Come back to me."
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"Mmuph!" Jim Ellison jerked awake, taking a big breath and coughing.
"Easy, Jim." Blair's firm hand patted his back until the coughing fit passed. "Swallow some sand?" he asked solicitously.
Jim coughed one last time and took the canteen his young friend held out to him, taking a sip, then another, swishing the water around in his mouth. "Thanks, Sandburg," he coughed.
"De nada." He peered into Jim's eyes. "It looked like you zoned there for a minute."
He squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Dunno. Might have. I had a strange dream." He took another deep breath. "The wind's dying down."
"Yeah?" Blair glanced at the blanket covering them and sheltering them from the worst of the sandstorm. "You can tell that?"
Jim frowned down at him and Blair grinned back. Jim rolled his eyes and whapped Blair on the shoulder. Blair pretended to be hurt and Jim ruffled his hair.
"Come on. Let's get back to the car before it gets dark." He stood, shaking sand out of the blanket before folding it and tucking it into his pack.
"Yeah." Blair stood and leaned on the boulders they'd sheltered next to, looking around at the stark beauty of the desert.
"Hey, Jim, you ever think about moving to the desert?" he asked.
Jim glanced at him, rolled his eyes and headed back up the trail. "Let's just hope that sand didn't get in the truck's engine."
"Yeah. It'd be a tragedy to be stuck out here." Blair continued to look out over the scrubland with no small amount of longing as the last of the wind echoed with the melancholy sigh of a tired flute.
"Shake a leg, Junior, or walk back to town." Jim's long legs took him over a hill and out of sight.
"Hey, Jim!" Blair shouted, running to catch up. "Tell me about your dream."
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The End
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End Notes: Another shaman Blair story. Hmm.
Disclaimer: Once again I have failed. They are still at large.
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Begun: March 12, 2021
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