The long and short of it

The dust travelled high up to the heavens and gusted tremendously in great turbine pools of acrid beige particles. Ground so dry, sweat drops would make the sand mites sing at the surface. The sun was almost calling it a day, as it leant on the tip of the mountain-scape. The hilly monolithic view as a background, made way for the sandy foreground, where no life seemed to teem but a common black crow and three black silhouettes in the distance, atop four legged beasts. Heat waves swung out like capes around these silhouettes and the beasts shook their manes in the distance sluggishly to try and keep their gait strong for each of their riding master’s journey.

The first man was covered in the same coloured beige as the sand, almost camouflaging him from the very landscape, as the canvas dress-wrap reached all the way to his ankles and the same cloth wrapped around his tied up dark hair. He drew his ankles closely upwards towards his body in his stirrups, with slippered shoes of the same colour, making him appear nervous of his mount and not even sure of how to stay on it. He sported golden brown eyes, which flicked down every time his horse seemed to even have a thought and had a bruise on his chin from the last time he crouched too close to the horse’s wide neck. He was quite the contrast to his companions and the horses, because of what little skin showed between his face and his hands, he shone a golden brown, like the sun was his ally. He trailed still nervously in the back of this party of three and was comfortable to stay there to prevent his frost-white steed from charging off in lead as it had already showcased a days ago crossing the gorge.

The other man in a slight lead with his black sooted mare, was a typical ‘cowboy’ they called it up round the yard and carried the angular face of one with dirty blonde hair hidden flat under his jet black cowboy hat. The brown tassels with blue beads from the hat, clicked together at the side of his face every to and fro motion of their ride and the nervous man in the back still couldn’t believe that this one could stand such a noise around the horses all day long, just to keep some sun off of his boyish, but leathery face. Even though his skin could have been milky white in his youth this angular face now creased sun damage to the very heavens. He sat in well-ridden jet black pants to match his tight fitted black jacket and black leather boots, strapped to the knees. When he wasn’t talking (and that was few and far between) his boyish angles whistled a tune out of boredom and he knew it irritated his travelers, which only made him wink his green eyes between the both of them, until he decided to rattle onwards with his witless tales of heroics.

The last man riding to his right, was clothed in a similar canvas wrap of beige, however it was used more as a cloak, which concealed intricately worked leather armour, with chinks of gold knocked into the joins of the plate. It was old and had seen bad turns, much the same as his leather and mail skirt -made from the same material, but slashed in for increased movability. He was darker than the two and his marble skin flashed circular welts perfected executed in lines extending from his shoulders and right round down both of his arms. He kept his head bald and was adorned in 12 or so gold earrings, which clinked in unison with the ‘cowboy’s tassels and beads. His face and bearing on his grey steed was stoic and he rode as if we could for the rest of his life, without needing to rest in between. He answered very few questions, however grunted and made clicking syllables every so often to his horse - as if in calm conversation to its breath. The three men were an oddball crew if there was one, however with all their indifferences, decided to ride out these dusty flats with company before their own final adventures.

“Steaming piece of shit, that’s what this tobacco tastes like to me!” Timoth said as he spat leaves to the ground and handed the leather pouch back to the dark man in matching leather armour next to him. Al reached out and collected his pouch back without even looking in Timoth’s direction, but he managed a small grin at the man’s reaction.

“I’m just dying for a smoke and that’s all we’ve got left? Muddy leaves in river water that’s what!”

“Oh, but you are kind young cowboy. Our ancestors only gave this to their dying grandmothers.”

Both Timoth and Kaneel scrunched their noses up in distaste and confusion. Timoth finally remembered, “And you said three days ago that it was your people’s finest weed, you cheek! Anyway, as I was saying before your weeds almost gave me the shits…” He scratched under his black hat and thought a while with a dumb but beautiful face. “What was I saying?”

Kaneel cleared his throat, pulled his headwrap a little further down his face to ward the sun and answered, “Something about your past encounter with a sugar-bear-monster?” Al rolled his eyes silently and popped a thumb-full of tobacco into his mouth to slow ruminate to with the next story.

Timoth turned around and gave Kaneel a thumbs up and said, “Yes you see I knew you were both interested in that one.” Kaneel readjusted his bony seat in the saddle and nodded to progress the story.

As Timoth expressed his tale of the sugar-bear-monster with progressing “Aha’s” and undulating “Oho’s”, getting Kaneel to mimic these same for at least 40 minutes into the thick of it, which is more time any traveller should have to bare. The mare of his finally had enough of it herself and stamped her feet hard into the drought-packed earth, making Kaneel loose his balance and hang on to her neck, which suggested the stop in the story and a laugh from the cowboy instead. Kaneel laughed at himself and had to reset his bony frame again for the long travel ahead.

“Why don’t you tell us many stories?” Al shook himself from his other state away from these men and horses and shifted his dark eyes between the two of them, who looked expectantly towards him. “Of your past or something? We have both told you quite a bit of ourselves, c’mon.” Timoth nodded enthusiastically, while swatting a lazy horsefly buzzing between them.

“I…” Al never thought the question would truly come up as he was a lone rider at heart and this whole comradery and sharing nature was different than the homeland that he was used to. He glanced slightly at his staff mounted on the left-hand side of his saddle, just under his thigh, but not too long for them two to notice and continued, “I don’t much remember my past.”

“C’mon is that it partner?” Timoth snorted half-heartedly and clapped him on the shoulder, which made both front horses rear their heads slightly. ­­­

“I don’t much remember my past and from what I can tell of my present, don’t want to and that’s the long and short of it I’m afraid.” He looked down to where he was holding the reigns tightly and his knuckles started turning white. Told himself to give slack, making his shoulders drop down.

“The almighty will think you such a strange soul my friend.” Kaneel finally gibed in softly and then to Al’s relief he turned and said with a more eager voice, “Timoth tell us that story of the lemon ladies in fur-land again.” This made Timoth smile from ear to ear thinking someone in the world out there was even listening to this looney and his wild stories. Al had relaxed by then and even chimed a whistle in when Timoth had begun with, “It was a humid morning in 5020.”