Sand and Blood

Chapter 19: Humiliated

The worst critic is the voice inside your head.

—Kormar Proverb

Rutejìmo woke up thinking about his actions the night before. The humiliation still burned bright, and he kept replaying the encounter in his head, pretending he wasn't as pathetic as Mikáryo said he was. But, no matter how dramatic his fantasies, there was no way to take back what he had done. He had failed them. Any hopes of being as good as Chimípu were blown away in a single night; he could never fight in the darkness that way, blind but somehow defending the clan against a superior opponent.

He sniffed and looked at the others. Pidòhu was sitting up, but his body shook with every movement. The injured teenager kept wiping his brow as he struggled to hold the water skin to his lips.

Chimípu knelt down next to him, her gaze fixed on him. She held her hand underneath the water skin, ready to catch it if it fell. She spoke to him quietly, a whisper too soft for Rutejìmo to hear.

Pidòhu said something and she smirked.

Rutejìmo felt ostracized by the only clan he had. He got up and trudged away, to answer the pressure in his bladder and to avoid the people who had seen him at his weakest.

His feet scuffed on the sand and rocks. He headed back to the rock they spent the first part of the night under. He couldn't stain it any worse, and it gave him privacy.

Thoughts spiraling into depression, he finished what he needed to and circled around the rock. He had done everything wrong on the trip: didn't stop Karawàbi from knocking Pidòhu off of the Tooth, going with the wrong group, and then making a coward of himself when they needed him most. Rutejìmo wondered if he deserved to be a man, or to see the dépa.

For the first time, he wanted to run simply for the need to run. It was a strange feeling, but he hoped that it would clear the shadows from his thoughts. He glanced back at their new camp; Pidòhu and Chimípu were still talking. He shook his head and picked a direction and ran. He would only go a few chains at most and then come back.

Shimusògo appeared as he got up to speed, the little dépa sprinting ahead of him. Rutejìmo smiled into the wind. It felt right when he was chasing the clan spirit. He bore down and accelerated, racing after the bird he would never catch.

When he ran, he couldn't think. His mind grew empty until there was nothing but the dépa and the blur of the world. He kept on running, keeping along the curves of the rocks as they turned into dunes. When he hit the soft sand, he expected to stumble, but the sand was as solid as a rock. He found purchase even running along the sandy ridges.

Elation filled him and it spread out to suffuse his entire body. When he was running, he didn't feel like a fool and a coward. He felt like a runner, a courier of Shimusògo.

The dépa fluttered and it sprinted away from him. The feathered crest bounced with its movement as it left a trail of dust.

Rutejìmo stumbled, remembering how it had disappeared before the valley, but the bird was still visible. He regained his pace and pushed himself harder, struggling to catch up again. His legs and arms moved in an easy rhythm, but they burned with his efforts.

The world spun past him, a blur of rocks and sand. He chased the dépa, trusting the spirit to guide him to where he needed to go.

He didn't know how long he ran. Time just slipped by as he tried to keep up with the dépa. He focused on the bird, but the spirit was slowing him down. He thought he could catch up, but his own speed faltered with the bird's. Ahead of him, he saw a set of Wind's Teeth sticking out of the ground. There were five of them, like jagged fingers poking out of the desert.