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    Summary

    With no indication of the passing day, they make camp when Markos begins to flag on his lead, his legs flashing lean and dark through the ceaseless, murmuring filter of the sandstorm, lower, then lower still as he fails to maintain the angle of his ankles, seeping into the curvature of each dune. He may be stepping softly for hours, or it may be mere heartbeats, treading into the sand as a man walking the inner face of a cylinder. Beyond sweating, his skin shines by its tightness as do ripe fruit. The thews in his calves and forearms nearly stand.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,286
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    5
    Kudos:
    2
    Hits:
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