THE DRY, DUSTY air billowed in his eyes. Gripping his spear, Tahiq leaned his shoulder into the sand-flecked neck of his horse. His loyal friend nuzzled his hair, pants lifting his flyaway tangled hair. After days riding against the Nehev Desert, man and mount were exhausted. His clothes were soiled by blood and dirt, his scabbard had been lost in the battle, and his saddlebags — one of them anyway — had been cut from the saddle. But Tahiq had his gold; he and Nieves could return monetarily victorious to Hebran. Just another day and they would be home. Hot water, fresh food, a soft bed. And best of all to Tahiq, his angel Ghadila would be there waiting for him. And that was all he needed to survive through these skirmishes. The memory of his angel.
Written: 30 July 2014
Word count: 135
Inspired: a 1,000+ wd snapshot into these characters’ lives