The Cabin | D.M 18+

S I X T Y - F I V E

Hi.

Sorry about this chapter. It is about a location I have no knowledge of systematically or culturally.

I really tried my hardest and studied to make sure it was as accurate as possible so if my fellow African readers do see something I missed then please let me know so I can amend.

I hope it does justice.

Please comment, vote and share!

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- BELLE -

I could tell anyone how the journey was fine. Maybe it was something I could tell our little bat when the whole conundrum is over. Sugarcoat it and say that it had taken exactly the amount of hours that we needed for the journey.

But sneaking around in the midst of the clouds where nothing but Dementors lurk around the border of the country, leaving was one of the first hurdles we had to plough through.

When the words are uttered 'don't look down' the words are more than necessary. Where there was once ground, there was nothing but plains of water.

The English Channel was a bowl of death.

Knowing that should one spectacle come to attack, the abrupt gush of air could possibly tip us over and we'd drop to drown and plummet.

To avoid any witness from France, Fulgur flew around the Channel Islands and across the Bay of Biscay, towards Gibraltar and through Morocco. Seeing land had eased the tension.

To an extent.

I could feel the ache of my muscles unclenching. I didn't have a distrust of dropping to my death, but never had I imagined that something we'd witness as shallow, clear and beautiful on a summer morning, could be so eerie, terrifying and violent at the same time.

Salt crystals crowned the rims of my Quidditch goggles where brushing them against my tight shoulder wouldn't rid of the spikes.

All we did was fly yet the taste of salt was so prudent I couldn't help but heave.

When we reached Africa, never would I have imagined to miss the sea as I did then.

The Saharan Desert, perhaps the most deadliest place on the planet, would reach scorching temperatures of up to forty four degrees celsius. Quite humanitarian for upcoming spring.

And for a place where no life resides, it was no difficulty in becoming subconsciously over-hydrated.

The extremes in scenarios had many of us quenching in nausea and thirst.

Thankfully there was no bile, but to say that none of us felt the punishment of life would be a lie I couldn't dare to tell.

It was so- yellow.

And- dry.

Ripples of sand that wrinkled the ground, parched from spirit.

Algeria had been its worst; never had I imagined five hours to feel like three years.

Boring old sandy grounds. The only working thing in that case scenario was that there were no sandstorms that day.

Then we would've really struggled.

We flew on.

To replenish, refocus and allow Fulgur along with the likes of others, we set camp at our final stop in Cameroon at the Waza National Park.

Hidden away from local villages, magic charms were set in a half circumference to large hilled pieces of rock.

Already it was encircled with trees which gave us some leverage, but it also meant that the majority of wild animals wouldn't come to our demise. For the area was widely known for its regulars in the likes of lions and elephants.