Camels in the Mist

The morning air is dry. Parched lips form a whisper, but no water is to be had, no sound to be made. The morning sun beats down like a thousand hammers. The only power capable of withstanding that onslaught is the baked earth, the heat rising slowly off the savanna in waves, you can see it. Nearby, in the distance, everywhere. It is inescapable, that heat. The smell of dust in the air and something, something… A smell you know you’ve smelled before, intangible, but sparking memories in your brain, something you need, something you want.

Stepping out from the shade of the jackalberry tree, the warrior lifts his face to the sun. The dry wind brings with it the faint sound of a djembe drums and voices, growing louder, louder. His blood quickens as the music takes him. Tightening his loincloth, he places his ear to the ground and listens, the sound of hooves hammering distant clay forms a counterpoint to the music on the wind. Straightening, he hefts his spear and trots out onto the dry grass of the savanna. In the distance, a cloud of dust can be seen, signifying the herd. A low wail, breaking into a run, blood pounding in his ears. There is no warrior, it is merely the feet pounding on the dry grass, the heat, the spear, the herd in the distance, and a music that paints the scene with colors that only the ear can see.

The hunt is on.

Currently Listening to:
[ Gladiator Soundtrack ] Hans Zimmer & Lisa Gerrard - Sorrow

This entry was posted on Saturday, April 30th, 2005 at 12:40 pm by Xore and is filed under All, Music, Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.