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The sun returns, and with her my strength. I have gone too many days without food or water to rise on my own. Her light creeps over the horizon, setting the dunes aglow in crimson. Upon her touching my side, I am remade. I am flooded with gold and heat. She moves within me, gently guiding my limbs. With her aid, I stand. I step out onto the warming sand.
As my mistress ascends her throne, crimson becomes yellow. My feet become steadier. Even if I had spit to wet my tongue I could not articulate gratitude sufficient for her kindness; even if I water in me to weep I could not weep enough to commensurate her beauty. This desert is no place for me. I was born to colder climates, where the sun is distant. Alone, I am too weak to tolerate her kingdom. I am too weak to withstand her glory in such close proximity.
But she, in her glorious wisdom, has seen to such things. I am hollowed and hallowed. Within me, she has carved out a space to receive her flame. It does not matter that I do not know how to forage in these lands. She grants me the energy I need to continue on. And with her burning within me, I am not burned by her without.
So, I am blessed to walk a land denied to the rest of my kind. The dunes glitter, paying tribute to the sun by scattering the gift of her light in joyous adulation. Though I pity the sand denied her brilliance, even the bowls of shadow between the hills lend beauty to the scenery. Her absence is marked in shades of purple. The amber of the landscape is made all the richer in contrast.
Nothing, however, compares to the magnificence she makes of the sky.
The sky burns. The blue skies I know of my birthplace have long since been cleansed away. Overhead there is naught but gold, save for my mistress and her crown. Those are only pure, divine white. Even with her fire hot in my chest, it is difficult to gaze directly upon her face. I am an imperfect vessel yet.
Occasionally, a cloud will dare trespass on her domain. I rile at the audacity, but she only responds with clemency. The transgressor is gilded and, if particularly lucky, raptured and seared away.
I am ever humbled by her compassion.
The air shimmers, thick with her visions. Though this land may be where she reigns supreme, all her light touches she sees, and her light reaches far. Glowing, ephemeral ribbons dances about. Within them flickers phantoms of heaving oceans, bustling cities, and swaying fields of grass. I had not, before now, ever been somewhere so rich with the gift of her sight. In the beginning, it was only snatches here and there. Hard to see, harder to understand. Learning to make sense of the visions was slow work. But now, with them so bountiful, I have made remarkable improvement even within the last few days. The visions grow clearer and clearer. I follow them eagerly, as fast my borrowed strength will allow. The brilliant, wavering trails lead me deeper and deeper into the desert.
Every once in a while I think I see the frosted forests and wind-swept mountains of my childhood. My chest tightens, aches. But I do not think the feeling is homesickness.
It is the unfortunate nature of the day that it must end. The sun arises until she lies directly above, the profanity of one's shadow as small as it can ever be. But then she must fall and take her light elsewhere. I am embarrassed by my envy of those she visits next. I am but one, and my mistress has too much wonder to share for me alone. And besides, I would love her less if she denied others her presence for my sake. And I am already immeasurably blessed by the exceptional favor she has bestowed upon me. I will not sully her grace by begrudging the lesser attention she gives to others.
Still, I do not chastise myself for sorrowing at her departure. How could it be wrong to miss she who I adore above all else? To long for the greatest magnificence I will ever behold?
White softens to yellow, orange, then crimson again. As her light weakens so do I, my legs wobbling in their vain, ridiculous attempt to chase her. I feel the night biting at my heels, more awful than any slobbering wolf. Then she slips below the horizon and I finally collapse. As I have many nights before, I quickly learn even crawling is beyond me, my legs twitching with the last dregs of my strength. Then even that is gone and I am completely still. The night lugs its blackness across the sky, smothering the last of the gleaming red before me. I try not to pity the stars as they appear, the tiny chips drowning in a darkness the sun so effortlessly burns away.
My heart slows. I grow cold, horribly cold, a cold more complete and consuming than I ever experienced even in the worst winters of my younger years. It is the price I pay for the wonders the sun grants me: I am nothing without her now. I would choke on despair, but I know she will return. I can bear this, for her sake.
I close my eyes as my heart stutters through its last few beats. I let the darkness overtake me.
I await the dawn.