Have you ever seen the sun rise above the Arashi desert? The Fiery chariot of Apollo thundering up into the blue black cloak of the maiden of night, the mane of his glorious horses, astral rays of orange and red that cast across a land bathed in the image of the sun gods hues.
His radiance burns back the night, his glory outshines all other stars so that even the white of the moon, if she still hangs in the sky pales with his coming. I feel such great pride as he looks down upon this, my humble land, barren to the witless, harsh to the weak, a mother to the strong and wise.
The winds rise with his coming, a hot howling of air let from the lungs of Apollos beasts as they charge into the heavens, grit and sand prickles my skin and eyes yet I revel in their bite, the sensation of a thousand stings reminding me I am a thousand times alive to know it.
This is the glory of dawn, a new day, a new struggle, yet another night survived, another victory celebrated another triumph.
I prostrate my body to the east, kissing my brow against the heating ground, a prayer of supplication for the strength in my limbs, the charity of my will, the temperance of my judgements. I beg forgiveness for my weaknesses, my doubts and my errors, and thank the lord for his mercy and love.
I rise, renewed and vigorous, yet steeled with patience and care, my strides are powerful, my arms bulging with the muscle and sinew of countless labours made by hands as rough as rock with a grip like a vice. I thank the lord again for these blessings, and collect those few things I call my own. I wrap my rifle up carefully in cloth and sling it over my shoulder, looking down the rocky ridges towards a file of soldiers kicking up a cloud of dust that defiles the pure cerulean of the morning sky with a smudge of brown.
They are loud, the fall of boots and grinding of tread tracks echoes across the narrow valley of ancient red islands that dot the landscape, sentinels of the wastes, witness to a thousand, thousand glorious dawns, a thousand victories, a thousand miseries, a thousand failures.
I lay and wait, still and patient watching the column through the delicate lense of a magnifying scope. A glinting light from the north signals its start, a plume of fire and rock rumbles up from the earth like the belch of hellfire scattering limb and steel as chaos reigns into the ranks of soldiers. Lightning strikes from the hills, the thunderous report of single shot rifles tearing into the soft bodies as officers and sergeants are murdered, valiant men desperately trying to muster their troops.
And as soon as it starts, it stops, the crane is wounded and bleeding on the Arashi desert, she cries for water, for comfort, for aid, struggling across the wasteland with terror in her eyes and the tremble of panic in her limbs.
Yet Arashi is barren to the witless, harsh to the weak, and the Asps poison is in her now.
A Desert Asp Short
