“Even if it was out of ignorance, to step without regard…” It was a wisp of a voice. But it was chilling. The man felt his tendons begin to freeze. His eyes became hazy, and all he knew was that there was a long, sharpened scythe with its blade at his neck. He couldn’t move.

He was frightened. For the first time in the desert he was dealt a great fear. He felt the saliva in his mouth. The air reflected off the blade near his neck, and he feared he could feel it drawing closer to slicing through his head cleanly.

The Cowards head had popped off so cleanly, and at the moment, the man could only think about how his head would likely be the same. Would his head on the sand have a good view?

Would he be like the fairy, a damaged good that spoke to those he came across? He thought that might be a funny sight. And then the Reaper spoke again, and he did not think of funny things again.

“Why… are you here…”

And now he saw the figure. A woman’s skull was all he could really make out, and a skeletal hand wrapped around the shaft of the scythe. The rest of her was covered by darkness. But his eyes would never wander that far down. His eyes were too affixed into the eyes of the skull. As far as he could look in, there was no end. Just an eternal darkness captured within the two holes on the skull’s face.

He didn’t know what to say. Truth be told, he forgot why he came all together. Time seemed distant as a concept. He hadn’t given it much thought, until he met the Fairy. And the second time he’d thought about it was when he met the Coward. He didn’t feel like he could utter a satisfying response, and he could only frown.

The Reaper had nearly grown tired of waiting, and began to slide her scythe to the neck. Slowly, enough for the Man to be motivated by pain. But she stopped, seeing that the man had furrowed his brow, and ignored the pain. He pondered on his journey.

In the land of twilight, things did not change. Or, they weren’t supposed to. He was sure at some point that was what he came here for. He had wanted to end an intense worry through infinity, a rejection of fulfillment. So it seemed natural to him, to answer to the Reaper that he was here to forget.

But he’d met the Fairy, and before he knew it he was following the path he set. He thought of what lay in the desert, and followed what the Fairy asked. And with that, he remembered the Fairy. And because of that, he couldn’t confidently say that he wanted to forget, because the Dragon was still out there in the crater. He wanted to see it, arrogance and all. That was what the Fairy gave him.

The Coward, too. Even though his encounter was brief, and his death was so sudden, the man thought that he wouldn’t be able to forget him. Why had he thought he was a king? Why a bandit?

He felt a desire in the depths of his heart, a weak thing. Not enough to begin a passionate diatribe, but enough to understand his answer wasn’t something simple.

“I think…” His voice rang out in the sands for the first time. Slightly effeminate, but rough. It was projected well, and in response to its projection the scythe quivered in the Reaper's hand, but this would of course go unnoticed by the man. He was too focused on his words, he wanted to understand that fleeting thing he felt.

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“I want to see. There’s a particularly high dune over there, wouldn’t the sight at the top be such a thing?”

The home of the noble. If he couldn’t live long, he’d like to gaze upon their home in his last moments. Although it wasn’t the grand goal of finding the dragon, the dunes alone were what called to him. He looked in the Reaper's eyes, the grand darkness waited for him in response. But he thought at the very least if she wouldn’t grant his request, he’d at least show his gratitude.

He never would have thought that he’d have a goal of his own. And now, he’d decided something else. The Reaper in front of him was quite a fortuitous encounter. Were he to stay with the Coward, he would have never thought of the potential view. And although he was still far too numb to smile, the Reaper saw into his eyes.

And the scythe slid with sickening speed, returning to her side and leaving the man unharmed. There was silence except for the wind for a moment, and it was broken by the reaper’s voice, ever so unnerving.

“Very well…” The fog faded, and with it the Reaper. No further response was needed.

The man examined the scene, the head of the Coward had been covered by the sand, and his body partially shared the same fate. The blood poured out of his head and body onto the black sand, but it only served to accentuate the darkness. The red color seemed to fade away, leaving only the sight most familiar to the man.

He decided that the environment would take care of the Coward’s body, but gave him a moment of thought. He’d hoped that he didn’t have anything too important waiting for him.

When he was ready to leave, he remembered the knife and went back for it, grabbing it and sliding it into his cloak. At the very least, if someone were looking for the Coward he’d have a token of his to give them solace.

And so he walked through the black sands, climbing the dune that towered above the others. A rough journey, for sure. Grains of sand caked themselves under his nails, and by the time he was at the top, a layer of sand had completely covered a part of his cloak, catching itself in the fur.

And what a sight it was, that spread before him.

No different, of course. There wasn’t a sun peaking over the horizon, and it’s not as if he saw any color speckled onto the landscape. It was just a sight he already saw from another angle, truly nothing special. But it was broad, and his eyes could only imagine where he’d been. He thought of where the Fairy must lie, of where the Coward must. He wondered if he could see the fog if the Reaper decided to make its appearance.

His eyes scanned, thinking of what he’d describe the sight he saw as. An odd thought, he had no one to explain it to. But still, he thought of how it could be explained. Damned a spectator, the beauty needed more than just sight. It needed observation, understanding. It was only fair, And he basked in that understanding, of being able to recount the simplicity of it.

And there in the distance, his eyes caught the faintest outline of a canyon in the distance. A sigh escaped his lips, and again he spoke.

“To the canyon, home of the dragon.”

Said to nobody, and barely a whisper. He motivated himself, and once again set out into the sands.

His footsteps in the sand were forever gone, yet they told a story. A story that while he may forget, will never be forgotten by the desert. And to the things that found themselves attached to the desert, those stories were reaffirmations of self. Sources of empathy, of comparison. Only in the desert where the dead go to die, is there a being that see’s but can not understand.