Heretics And Sheep

8: Grey Clouds

Marcus panted heavily. His knees sunk into the sand and he could almost see his breath in the thick air. He was trying to avoid a panic attack, his eyes wide. Stunned.

The Sanguinus leader clambered to his feet and charged a blood bullet, aiming for the kneeling swordsman. He had pretended to be dead, but the missing cheekbone and the gore that replaced it sowed disbelief.

"Got you, rat."

The blood pulsated ready to shoot. However, Barabbas appeared behind him and bashed him with the hilt of his dagger. As the enemy tried to guard, he came down with both daggers. This time spearing into his neck, sinking into his jugular veins. The Sanguinus stiffened up as his blood hissed through the air. Barabbas continued hacking at his neck. By the third strike, he got off the body and the Sanguinus head rolled down the dune.

The Desert Reaper turned to Marcus, who was still on his knees. Barabbas caught his breath and advised.

"Heed to your back till all enemies are water..."

An old SaHraa'di saying. Mostly taught to young pupils, in this context, it could be an insult; but in Barabbas's voice, nothing gave way to this. Marcus struggled to his feet, still gasping for air. He stood a moment, swaying in the heat. Blood lingered around his nostrils, it was an incessant smell.

"Marcus?" The Bedouin asked. If Marcus was listening he would've heard a hint of concern here. He wasn't.

He looked past Barabbas at nothing. His eyes rolled back and he dropped onto the sand. It bled away, longing for what it once was.

Grey clouds against black skies.

A sign of peace or a sign of rain.

We look up, longing for the first droplets.

Awaiting their will and going with the wind.

Unaware of the water, brimming, at our feet

Who are we to take hold of them?

These harbingers of destiny.

Marcus could smell wet grass and lingering moisture. He hummed along as he walked next to Titus, trying not to overtake him. He turned to his best friend, smirking while making conversation.

"Dude I love the smell of the rain, it's so unique and... fleeting." He raised an eyebrow at Titus's lack of response.

"Eh, I dunno. It's kinda hard to appreciate it when your clothes are fucking soaked." A hoodie enfolded his arms loosely and his jeans were perhaps too tight.

"Boooo. Fucking hater."

"Oi, I'm not taking this from you old man. Talking about rain all day. How about you get a job?"

"Hey, I have a job. I've BEEN having a job! What the fuck!" Marcus replied with a frown, falling for Titus's bait

Titus smiled. "Fucken dumbass."

Their smiles broke into laughter as they continued down the path. They were in the woods, heading towards an abandoned park. It was right by Titus's house and served as a prime smoke spot for them.

Marcus felt tiny water droplets sink into his jeans as he brushed past some shrubbery. Titus chirped up from behind.

"Man, you ever wash those?"

"What the patch pants? No, no."

Titus lowered his eyebrows, unimpressed. Marcus continued.

"Dude we've been over this. It's like a post-apocalypse thing, it's not like they're even that dirty. Besides, you're not supposed to wash jeans anyways."