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The click as the gun is cocked back is muffled by the vast amount of sand that edges them in, forming an arena. Four figures are a dark relief against the glare of the pale sand. Each pair faces the other. Only one gun was drawn between them, although all but one owns a weapon.
The one wielding the gun pulls down a light scarf from over his face, the defence against inhaling sand, to speak. "Ready?" His mouth curls up in pleasure, now the only part of the face able to be seen. The skin is heavily tanned.
The young man opposing him also removes the cloth covering his mouth, a bandanna, to grin at the gun wielder, his teeth shockingly white against the darkened skin. "Not on your life." His gloved hand holds firmly onto the wrist of the younger woman behind him, the only one who doesn't have a weapon on her.
Her face is bare, a broad-brimmed hat pulled low over her forehead to shield as much as possible from the sun. Her deep brown eyes, so similar to her brother's, show the opposite emotion to his.
The last and oldest man watches his inferior play with the children, his eyes severe. He stands back from the conflict, behind the gun wielder, to whom he now speaks. "Try for both of them. If the boy resists, feel free to dispatch him. But take the girl no matter what." He narrows his eyes at the boy, creases spreading out in a fan from the outer corners of his eyes, to see his reaction to this. The sand moves under his steady footsteps as he turns and walks up the slope when he finds no betrayal of emotion on the young face. Soon enough the sound of the man taunting the children is unintelligible. The sun catches on the bronze badge on his tan coat as a gun shot slams through the land.

~

He pulls down the bandanna that covers his mouth and nose and surveys the wide, open expanse that stretches out in front of him. The sun glares from high in the deep blue sky. He takes a deep breath and releases it in a rush. The wind now makes the only noise, whispering across the dry ground and causing a former shrub to shudder. He lets his straight-backed posture to slump, but only for a moment does he reveal how exhausted he is. His feet carry him off at a steady pace, his hands busy themselves by pulling up the bandanna again and adjusting his broad-brimmed hat.
Leagues of sand have passed under his feet. The footprints, the ones that have not been blown over by the wind, are deeper and longer the closer they are to him, showing how exhausted he is getting. The head droops, watching his feet plod one in front of the other. He favours one side more, the other is getting lame.
A noise rips through his head and it snaps up. A gun shot. Not normally a noise that is comforting. But where there is a bullet, there is a gun, usually being held by a person. He is desperate for company. Particularly the company of someone in particular. His eyes search the horizon and he sees what he was hoping against hope for.
The sun has been his guide for the past day. It starts to flee the sky behind the hazy horizon. His pace picks up even though every step is torture. He looks at the shape on the horizon again, squinting against the setting sun. Soon. Then he can rest. He closes his eyes, succumbing for a moment to his exhaustion. The ground suddenly falls away from beneath his feet and he stumbles down the slope of a sand dune. Strength abandons him at the bottom of the dune and he falls onto his hands and knees. It jarrs his arms and makes the bruises on them ache. His hat is a few strides up the next dune. He groans in pain and frustration before setting his teeth and starts to achingly crawl up the slope. He reaches for his hat with one arm, the other barely holding his weight up, when the sand slides out from underneath him. He lands on his stomach, his chin deep in the sand, for a long moment. Then he slithers down the slope, the distance of which was a waste of energy, and comes to rest at the base of it on his back. The bruises and welts there are screaming in protest at it. There is sand in his mouth, a disgusting grit. He doesn't have the energy even to curse.
He looks up at the darkening sky, thinking. He was so close. Close to home. Well, what he calls home. Ma'helai, his sister, will never know what become of him. She'd feel guilty. Mali, be safe.
"Rej'hemial!"
A pang of annoyance flashes through him. He urges colleagues and aquaintences to call him Rez. The name Rej'hemial immediately sets him out. It identifies him as an older Outcast, on the verge of being a Renegade, as he was born in the time when those sort of names were in, like Ma'helai.
"Rej'hemial!"
Something clicks in his head as sand starts to trickle onto him. Some one has found him. Then something else occurs to him. No one except Ma'helai calls him Rej'hemial. He looks up to see a figure spraying sand everywhere as they come tearing down the sand dune.
"Oh, Rej'hemial! You are alive!" She skids to a stop next to him, covering him in sand. Even through his utter exhaustion he could smile at her. "Come, come. You need to get up. It's going to be a cold night." She kneels down next to him. "Are you hurt, brother?"
"Get me... water." He reaches out to grab hold of something of hers. His hand grips onto her skirt.
"Oh!" She fumbles for the water skin at her belt and holds it to his mouth.
The water soothes his throat and rinses the sand from his mouth. He slumps back when finished. The wounds there complain again and he winces.
Ma'helai notices and hovers over him. "How hurt are you?" He just looks into her eyes, his hand gripping her skirt tightening. She strokes his face gently. "Let's get you home. Do you have your gun?"
His eyes drop closed and his hand loosens in its hold, so she feels his hips. They are bare of any holster or knife. Lightly and slowly, her hands travel around his body. His flinches when her fingers find wounds and her mouth twists in response. Rej'hemial was travelling bare. She starts to worry more and more with each wound and each scenario that travels through her mind. She stands, not noticing her brother's eyes opening. He watches her hand reach in an unexpected place, as exhausted as he is. Beneath her skirt she fiddles at her thigh. There is the glint of metal in the dying light as she toils up the sand dune. His head follows her, his mind confused. Ma'helai takes up a stance and aims at the middle of the neighbouring sanddune. Her brother has lost sight of her so he listens hard. Three shots. One after the other, pause, then the third. He hears her muttering. The rhythm of the gun shots sounds familiar. He winces as the rushing sound of a flare is set off. Moments later Ma'helai returns, empty handed. His eyes are wide as they follow her path.
She holds out her gloved hand and he takes hold slowly. He has to depend heavily on Ma'helai to get him to stand. He could see her struggling to keep a hold on him. She gets his arm over her shoulders and takes on some of his weight. They stagger up the dune, Rej'hemial's legs shaking. At the peak they watch the last of the light flicker from the sky as the flare sheds red light across the next dune in front of them. As time passes, their puffs of breath start to form clouds before them. Ma'helai shivers and he pulls her closer, as weak as he is. Slowly, the light from the flare also dims and goes out. Rej'hemial starts to sag as Ma'helai struggles to hold him up. His head droops and she gets concerned. Her eyes try to pick out any light towards the town, desperate for some help.
She clears her throat. "Maybe we should move about. Keep you from getting too cold." The cold strikes her and again she shivers.
He lifts his foot to step forward and before Ma'helai knew it she was being dragged to the ground by the dead weight of her brother. Disoreintated, she scrambles up and rolls Rej'hemial onto his back. He groans, his eyes closed and half of his face covered in sand.
She feels the start of panic trickle into her chest. "Rej'hemial, Rej'hemial, are you okay? Oh, brother, I'm trying to get help." She brushes the sand off his face and his mouth moves as if he is trying to say something.
His voice is hoarse and quiet. "Don't call me that, Mali. It's just Rez. Just Rez." His eyelids flutter.
Her heart beats faster. She feels helpless as she gets out the now sandy water skin out. She trickles water into his mouth. "This is the best I can do. I'm sorry." The sand is slightly warm under her knees. "Please stay together. They'll be here soon."
The clear, starry sky feels so far away and so cold to her. A brief breeze stirs her hair about her face and she realises she is no longer wearing her hat. There is a dark shape just out of her reach but does not want to get it. There is no way she will leave her brother's side. The cold creeps down her spine each minute she sits there, stroking Rej'hemial's hair, whispering encouragement even if she doubts he will hear it.
"Ma'helai!"
She whips her head up and about, looking frantically for the source of the voice. "Boss! Quickly. He's hurt badly."
The large silhouette skims down from the top of the dune and in moments is at her side. He hands her an old oil lantern and she hesitates in taking it. "We'll have to risk it. We need it right now."
Ma'helai takes it and lights it quickly. It lights up the welts and bruises on Rej'hemial's face that she couldn't see in the twilight. "Oh, Rej'hemial! Boss, pick him up, we need to rush him to the healer."
He turns to her, his brown bearded face covered in wrinkles and a keen glint in his eyes. "Ma'helai, you have to calm down. I will. Just calm. Get anything that you left here and I'll be on my way before you get back. Go."
She stands up and backs away carefully up the dune. "Gently." She watches as the big man slowly and carefully slides his thick arms about her frail-looking brother. Her feet stumble up the slope and by the light of the lantern she finds Rej'hemial's hat. She puts it on her head and finds her own back on the other side of the dune. Boss has already made it up the next dune. After quickly plucking the used flare from the sand, Ma'helai hurries to walk next to Boss carrying her brother. She shifts her hat to the hand holding the lantern and with the now free left hand loosens the gun in her thigh holster hidden beneath her skirt. She lets it rest there. Her eyes flick about the sand around them, wary. Every time they peak a sand dune the town is closer and more inviting. The temperature drops and the sand is no longer warm.
"Could we move any faster?"
"Ma'helai, you'll have to calm down. Any faster and I will drop him."
"Don't do that." She looks closely at her brother's face. It looks quite calm. "But it would be nice-" Something catches her eye.
A dark shape looms to her left. Within a moment her gun is drawn and is pointing at the chest of the person. "Don't move." Her voice is as hard as the metal which glints in the steady lantern light. The person raises their empty hands slowly. Her thumb clicks back the hammer and her finger tightens slightly. "Don't move." She raises the lantern to shed light on the stranger's face. She drops her arm quickly, her thumb easing the hammer back into its original position. The newcomer's face is alarmed. "Sorry, Weasel."
He laughs uneasily. "I understand. Any way I can help?" He shifts in his long, heavy coat.
"Keep an eye out. Let's go. How much longer until we reach the town?"
His defined face turns to Rej'hemial. "Poor kid. With him like that it'll be about twenty minutes."
Boss starts walking down the dune with a steady pace. "No use standing about sharing pleasantries."
Weasel shows his white teeth in a grin. "Right you are, Boss." His tall, thin shape moves ahead of Ma'helai.
She pauses a moment, her heart racing. She tries to accept the fact that she would have pulled the trigger in a heartbeat had he come one step closer, no, one centimetre closer. She would have killed Weasel, dear Weasel. She shivers and hurries next to Boss, lighting their way. The lantern flickers in her shaking hand.
Boss looks at her for a long moment. "Are you okay?" Her shoulders are hunched and head is lowered as she doesn't respond. "I'm sure Weasel has had that happen before. Hey, Weasel?"
Weasel laughs. "It's okay, miss. Indeed I have. And I have to admit, that was pretty quick. You'd have men rolling on their back with that." He is glad to see her head lift.
She looks behind. "You think so? I am really sorry."
Boss looks her over again, noticing the pulled back shoulders and lift of the head. "I think so too. You just can't let Rej'hemial know."
She laughs quietly. "Imagine how he'd react. I just need to practice my repetitive shot aim. Which is hard to do considering how often he is around." Her eyes fall to her brother, who moans.
Boss notices the creases between her eyebrows. "Look ahead."
She does as he says and exclaims. The town glows in front of her, one low dune away. "I'll go ahead and warn the healer. Weasel, take the lantern." She charges off, her hat in hand.
Rej'hemial moves feebly in Boss's arms. "Ma'helai... Mali..."