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Chap 19The Stranger has a name"Xenia do you have any idea where Faramund would have gone?" Sirius asked, as we trotted down the beach.
It was just an hour before noon, and already I was aching in the saddle. I could tell Aysel was too by her grumpy face. Xenia was also, having not ridden for a long time as she said before. But she didn't care, she focused on finding Faramund. Nishant was eying every inch of land, wondering what everything was; he chirruped and growled at some things that moved, and some things he didn't like the shape of. It was fun and entertaining to watch him, and watch Xenia take care of him, I guess it would be fun to Impress and dragon, or a Fire lizard. Though the time of feeding and making sure it was healthy and out of trouble would be long and tiresome, but after all that it would be worth it. Soon we came to the end of the beach, where a forest started another journey.
"No, Ryder how about you? You were the last to see him." She pointed out.
Ryder shrugged and said. "No I don't, he left
Chapter 18 The Fire KingFaramund walked and walked for hours none stop, he was exhausted, and dehydrated, and he hadn't eaten for two days. He didn't know why he was walking or where he was headed, he just wanted to go somewhere peaceful and quiet. As he walked he came to a place that was red with rust, everything around him was red sand, and he was, in fact in the heart of a desert.
The sun burned down on him for hours and walking made him want to fall on the burning hot sand and die. Faramund didn't care about the rest of on the beach, didn't care if they were searching him. The last thing he remembered was falling on the sand, followed by voices then black.
"Mother please, you've been in there too long." A young male voice said. "Let the man rest, he's been in the desert for two days with no bread or water and no sleep."
"I will wait till he wakes, and he will have his food." Said a calm, gentle old woman.
"At least eat something; you haven't eaten since the day we found the poor man." The boy said.
if you need help making it through the dayremember:
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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