It was hard travelling with him. He moved so quickly and easily in the soft, shifting sands and over rough, sharp grass and rocks. Sometimes he looked back and caught my eye. Something in his glance gave me courage.

He never answered my questions, merely walked ahead. Shimmering waves of heat distorted the horizon, which became flatter as we headed into the white desert.

I had so much to ask him. Why had he brought me here, to this desolate waste? Why had he let me nearly die before restoring me? How did he move so lightly, so swiftly? How could I ever trust him to lead me when he left me for so long? How I hated him, hated with a passion. I had loved him, that was the only reason I could despise him now.

Yet, he had come for me. Late, but not too late. I saw him now, climbing a small rise. He stopped and waited for me to catch up. I reached out to touch his hand. He stood still and let me entwine our fingers together. He smiled now, as he looked across a green plateau. The silvery thread of a river wound its course through the grassy expanse. The sky here was less harsh, a pale blue, rather than glaring white.

To touch him was like touching the source of life and light. It was overwhelming, and I wanted to let go, but wanted to hold on. I was entirely torn. Who was he? Why did he bring me here? Why not someone else? Though, it seemed, there was not another soul in this strange place.

He led me down the hillside toward the river, feeling the cool grass beneath my aching feet. The wounds on my arms had healed now, leaving fine traces of scars. Still, he let me hold his hand.

I did not know if he would answer me, but he was here. For now. I would have to rest in the closeness of his presence and hope that he would remain close.